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1 


POPULAR WORKS 

BY 

CAPTAIN MAYNE REID 


I THK SCALP HUNTERS 

• THE WAR TRAIL 

• THE HUNTER’S FEAST 
4 THE TIGER HUNTER 

« OSCEOLA, THE SEMIMOLB 
THE QUADROON 

{ RANGERS AND REGULATORS 
THE WHITE GAUNTLET 
4 WILD LIFE 

lo THE HEADLESS HORSEMAW 
u LOST LENORE 
M THE WOOD RANGERS 
t] THE WHITE CHIEF 
14 THE WILD HUNTRESS 
icTHE MAROON 
il THE RIFLE RANGERS 


Ovtela Majne Retd’s works aredP aa fatwa l y iaterestiiig 
and fascinating character. Nearly all of than being 
fonadcd upon snme historical erent, ther possess a 
psnnancnt value while nresenting a thrilling, 
aarncst, dashing fiction surpassed 
hy no novel of the day. 

Cfelh Bound* Price $t,oe each, and sent taas bF aaSiaB 
receipt of price* 

BY 

G. Wei^Dillingham Oo., Pat>lis]ier8« 

NEW YORK. 


LOST 


LENORE. 


21 Nooel 


Bt captain mayne eeid, 

4irrH0B OF **THB SCALP HUNTERS,” — “THE RIFLE RANGERS,”— **THB 
nOBB HUNTER,” — “THE WAR TRAIL,” — “THE WHITE CHIEF,” 

—“the hunter’s feast,” — “the wild huntress,” — “thi 

WOOD RANGERS,” “ WILD LIFE,” “THE MAROON,” 

** OSCEOLA THE SEMINOLE,” — “ THE WHITE GAUNT- 
UW/*— “ THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN,”— 

STa, ETC., ETC. 






NEW YORK! 

C WC DiUingham Co.^ PuUisktPM^ 



CONTENTS. 


(ThapUr. 






L 

Introduction, 

• 


• t 

9 

n. 

A Sudden Change of Character, 


• • 

• 

14 

III. 

Stormy Jack, 

• 

• 

m * 

18 

IV. 

A Change of Calling, 

• 



23 

V. 

God Help Us, 

• 

• 

• • 

28 

VI. 

Once More Upon the Ocean, 


• • 


83 

VII. 

Choosing a Horse, 



• • 

37 

VIII. 

An Episode of Soldier Life, 

• 


• 

42 

IX. 

A Fruitless Search, 

• 

• 

• • 

48 

X. 

A Chilling Reception, 

• 

• 


61 

XI. 

On the Track of Mr. Leary, . 

( 

• 


68 

XII. 

An Encounter with a Coward, 

• 

• • 


62 

XIII. 

A Reckoning Up, 

• 

• 

• e 

67 

XIV. 

Once More friends. 

• 

• • 


71 

XV. 

Love and Poverty, 



• • 

74 

XVI. 

Atlantic Liners, 

• 



77 

XVII. 

On Horseback Once More, 

• 

• 


82 

XVIII. 

Old Johnson, 

9 

• • 


87 

XIX. 

A Prospecting Expedition, 

• 

• 


92 

XX. 

Richard Guinane, 

• 

• • 

• 

97 

XXI. 

A Discovery, 

• 

• 

• • 

104 

XXII. 

Bom to Bad Luck, 


» • 

• 

109 

XXIII. 

A Curious Case of Self-Murder, 



• • 

113 

XXIV. 

An Impatient Man, 


• • 

• 

117 

XXV. 

A Bull and Bear Fight, 


• 


121 

XXVI. 

Stormy's Autobiography, 

• 

• • 

* 

126 

XXVIL 

Ann, 

• 

• 

. 

132 


VI. 


Contents. 


Chapter. 

xxvm. 

A Strange Summons from Stormj, 


t 


Page. 

186 

XXIX 

A Grizzly on Fire, 


• 

• 

141 

XXX. 

Lynch vs. Leary, . • 


• 


144 

XXXI. 

The Orphan, . . , 


t 


150 

XXXII. 

Stormy’s Last Spree, , 


• 

• 

153 

XXXIII. 

Red Ned, .... 


• 

• 

157 

XXXIV. 

My Comrade Avenged, 


• 


161 

XXXV. 

Stormy Tranquil at Last, . • 


f 

• 

164 

XXXVI. 

A Rough Ride, 


• 

- 

167 

XXXVII. 

The Partner of the Impatient Man, 


• 

f 

171 

XXXVIll. 

A Difference Among Diggers, 


• 

t 

175 

XXXIX. 

Government Agreed Upon, 


• 

% 

179 

XL. 

A Hungry Passage, 


• 

• 

183 

XLI. 

The Guardians of the Orphan, 


• 

• 

187 

XLII. 

A Meeting with a long lost Mother, 


• 

• 

190 

XLIII. 

Mystified by Martha, 


• 

• 

195 

XLIV. 

My Mother Mad ! 


• 

• 

198 

XLV. 

A Melancholy End, 


•. 

• 

202 

XLVI. 

News from Lenore, 


• 

• 

206 

XLVII. 

The Victoria Diggings, 


• 

• 

209 

XLVIII. 

The Stolen Nugget, 


• 

• 

215 

XLIX. 

A Fearful Fright, . . , 


« 

• 

219 

L. 

The Callao Gold Fever, 


« 

• 

224 

LI. 

The Yarra-Yarra, . , , 


• 

• 

228 

LII. 

Jessie 


• 

• 

232 

LIII. 

Australian Amusements, • 


• 

• 

236 

LIV. 

“ Love but One !” 


• 

• 

240 

LV. 

Unsuitable Associates, 


♦ 

• 

244 

LVI. 

Farrell’s Story Continued, 


• 

• 

249 

LVII. 

Odd Fashion in the Gold Fields, . 


• 

• 

252 

LVIII. 

A Disagreeable Partnership, 


• 

• 

256 

LIX. 

Sudden Dissolution of Partnership, 


• 

• 

259 

LX. 

A Frightful Nugget, 


• 

• 

262 

LXI. 

An Adventure with a “ Black Fellow,” 

• 

• 

266 

LXII. 

Farrell and his Wife once More, 


• 

• 

269 

LXIII. 

The Rush to Avoca, 


• 

• 

272 

LXIV. 

The “ Sweet Vale of Avoca,” 


• 

• 

277 

LXV, 

A Convict’s Story, 


• 

* 

281 

LXVI. 

Squatter’s Justice, 


• 

• 

285 

LXVII. 

RaflSling Away a Wife, 


• 

• 

289 

LXVIII. 

Caught in His Own Trap, 



• 

294 

LIX. 

A L^rk with the “ License Hunters,’* 


• 

• 

800 

LXX. 

Digger Hunting, 


• 

• 

804 

LXXI. 

A Genius in the Diggings, , 


• 

9 

807 

LXXII. 

The Eureka Rout, 


• 

\ 

810 

LXXIII. 

Buried Alive, 


• 

t 

314 

LXXIV. 

The “ Elephant ” and His Mate, 


« 

• 

319 

LXXV. 

A Dinner Party of Diggers, 


• 

• 

828 


Contents. 


CThapUr. 

LXXVL 

LXXVII. 

LXXVIII. 

LXXIX. 

LXXX. 

LXXXI. 

LXXXII. 

LXXXIIl. 

LXXXIV. 

LXXXV. 

LXXXVI. 

LXXXVII. 

LXXXVIII. 

T.XXXTY 

XC. 

XCI. 

xcn. 


The “ Elephant’s" Autobiography, 
Sailor Bill’s Life Yarn, 

My Brother William, . • 

A Milliner’s Yarn, . 

My Sister Still Obstinate, 

My Sister’s Sweetheart, 

At Sea, . . . 

Life in London, 

Old Acquaintances, . • 

Jessie’s Suitor, 

Mrs. Nagger, 

A “ Blessed Baby^, . 

In Search of Leh^, 

A Child of Nature, 

Mrs. Nagger, 

A Letter of Sad Significance, 

The Bolling Stone at Rest, . 


I 


/ 



' I 


Thb first important event of my life transpired on the 22nd May, 
1831, On that day I was born. 

Six weeks after, another event occured, which no doubt exerted 
an influence over my destiny : I was christened Rowland Stone. 

From what I have read of ancient history — principally as given 
by the Jews — I have reason to think, that I am descended from an old 
and illustrious family. No one can refute the evidence I have for be- 
lieving : that some of my ancestors were in existence many hun- 
dred years ago. 

The simple fact that I am in existence now is sufficient proof 
that my family is of a decent, ancient and noble, as that of any 
other on earth. 

Perhaps there is no family, in its wanderings and struggles to- 
wards remotest posterity, that has not experienced every vicissi- 
tude of fortune ; sometimes standing in the ranks oi Ihe great : 
and in the lapse of ages descending to the lower strata of the social 
scale, and there becoming historically lost. 

I have not yet found it recorded, that any individual of the 
family to which I belong ever held a very high position — not, in 
fact, since one of them named Noah constructed a peculiar kind of 
sailing craft, of which he was full owner, and captain. 

It was my misfortune to be brought into existence at a period of 
the world’s history, when my father would be thought by many to 
be a man in “ humble circumstances of life.” He used to earn an 
honest living by hard work. 

He was a saddle and harness-maker in an obscure street in th» 
city of Dublin; and his name was William Stone. 

When memory dwells on my father, pride swells up in my soul ; 
for he was an honest, temperate, and industrious man, and was 
very kind to my mother and his children. I should bean unworthy 
son, not to feel pride at the remembrance of such a father ! 


10 


LOST LENORS; 


There was nothing very remarkable in the character of my 
mother. 1 used to think different once ; but that was before I arrived 
at the age of reason. I used to think that she delighted to thwart my 
childish inclinations — more than was necessary for her own happi- 
ness or mine. But this was probably a fault of my wayward fan- 
cy. I am willing to think so now. 

I was a little wilful ; and no doubt caused her much trouble. I 
am inclined to believe, now that she treated me kindly enongh — 
perhaps better than I deserved. 

I remember, that, up to the time I was eight years of age, it was 
the work of two women to put a clean shirt upon my back ; and 
the operation was never performed by them without a long and vio- 
lent struggle. This remembrance, along with several others of a 
like nature, produces upon me the impression, that my parents 
must have humoured my whims — too much, either for my good or 
their own. 

When I was yet very young, they thought that I was distinguish- 
ed from other children by a •penchant, foi suddenly and secretly ab- 
senting myself from those, whose duty it was to be acquainted with 
my whereabouts. 1 often ran away from home to find playmates ; 
and ran away from school to avoid the trouble of learning my les- 
sons. At this time of life, so strong was my propensity for escap- 
ing from any scene 1 did not like, and betaking myself to such as ] 
deemed more congenial to my tastes, that 1 obtained the soubriquet 
of The Rolling Stone. 

Whenever I would be missing from home, the inquiry would be 
made : ‘‘ Where is that Rolling Stone and this inquiry being of- 
ten put in the school I attended, the phrase was also applied to me 
there. In short it became my “ nick-name.” 

Perhaps, I was a little vain of the appellation ; for 1 certainly 
did not try to win another ; but, on the contrary, did much to con- 
vince everybody, that the title thus extended to me was perfectly 
appropriate. 

My father’s family consisted of my parents, a brother, one year 
and a half younger than myself ; and a sister, about two years 
younger still. 

We were not an unhappy family. The little domestic cares, such 
as all must share, only strengthened the desire for existence — in or- 
der that they might be overcome. 

My father was a man without many friends, and with fewer ene- 
mies ; for he was a person who attended to his own husinesa, and 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. H 

said but little to any one. He had a talent for silence ; and had 
the good sense not to neglect the exercise of it — as many do the 
best gifts Nature has bestowed upon them. 

He died when I was about thirteen years old ; and, as soon as 
he was gone from us, sorrow and misfortune began for the first time 
to show themselves in our house. 

There are many families to whom the loss of a parent may be no 
great calamity ; but ours was notone of them ; and, young as 1 was 
at the time, I had the sense to know that thenceforward I should 
have to war with the world alone. 1 had no confidence in my moth- 
er’s ability to provide for hei children ; and saw that, by the death 
of my father, I was at once elevated from the condition of a child 
to that of a man. 

After his decease, the work in the shop was carried on by a 
young man named Leary — a journeyman saddler, who had worked 
with my father for more than a year previous to his death. 

- I was taken from school ; and put to work with Mr. Leary who 
undertook to instruct me in the trade of a harness-maker. I may 
say that the man displayed considerable patience in trying to teach 
me. 

He also assisted my mother with his counsel — which seemed 
guided by a genuine regard for our interests. He managed the 
business in the shop, in what appeared to be the best manner possi- 
ble ; and the profits of his labour were punctually handed over to 
my mother. 

For several weeks after my father’s death, everything was con- 
ducted in a manner much more pleasant than we had any reason 
to expect ; and the loss we had sustained seemed not so semous to 
our future existence, as 1 had at first anticipated. 

All of our acquaintances thought we were exceedingly fortunate 
in having such a person as Mr. Leary, to assist us in carrying on the 
business. Most of the neighbours used to speak of him in the 
highest terms of praise ; and many times have I heard my mother 
affirm : that she knew not what would become of us, if deprived of 
his assistance. 

Up to this time Mr. Leary had uniformly treated me with 
kindness. I knew of no cause for disliking him , and yet 1 did ! 

My conscience often rebuked me with this unexplained antipathy, 
for I believed it to be wrong ; but for all that, I could not help it. 
1 did not even like his appearance ; but, on the contrary, thought 
him the most hideous person I had ever beheld. Other people had 9 


12 


LOST lenork; 


different opinion ; and I tried to believe that I was guided by pre- 
judice in forming my judgment of him: I knew he was not to 
blame for his personal appearance, nor for any other of my fancies ; 
but none of these considerations could prevent me from hating 
Matthew Leary ; and in truth I did hate him. 

I could not conceal my dislike — even from him ; and I will do 
him the justice to state that he appeared to strive hard to over 
come it with kindness. All his efforts to accomplish this were in 
vain ; and only resulted in increasing my antipathy. 

Time passed. Mr. Leary daily acquired a greater control of the 
affairs of our family ; and in proportion as his influence over my 
mother increased, so did my hostility towards him. 

My mother strove to conquer it, by reminding me of his kind- 
ness to all the family — the interest he took in our common welfare 
— the trouble he underwent in teaching me the business my father 
had followed — and his undoubted morality and good habits. 

I could not deny that there was reason in her arguments ; but my 
dislike to Mr. Leary was independent of reason ; it had sprung from 
instinct. 

It soon became evident to me, that Mr. Leary would, at no dis^ 
tant period, become one of the family. In the belief of my moth- 
er, younger brother, and sister, he seemed necessary to our exist* 
ence. 

My mother was about thirty-three years of age ; and did not ap- 
pear old for her years. She was not a bad looking woman — be- 
sides, she was mistress of a house and a business. Mr. Leary pos- 
sessed neither. He was but a journeyman saddler; but it was 
soon very evident, that he intended to avail himself of the oppor- 
tunity of marrying my mother and her business, and becoming the 
master of both. 

It was equally evident that no efforts of mine could prevent him 
^rom doing so; for, in the opinion of my mother, he was every 
thing required for supplying the loss of her first husband. 

I tried to reason with her ; but must admit, that the only argu- 
ments I could adduce were my prejudices ; and I was too young to 
use even them to the best advantage. But had they been ever so 
just, they would have been thrown away on my father’s widow. 

The many seeming good traits in the character of Mr. Leary, and 
his ability for carrying on the work in the shop, were stronger ar- 
guments than any I could urge in answer to them. 

My opposition to their marriage — now openly talked about—* 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING 8TON1. 


IS 


only engendered ill-will in tiie mind of my mother ; and created a 
coldness, on her part, towards myself. When finally convinced of 
her intention to become Mrs. Leary, I strove hard to overcome my 
prejudices against the man ; for i was fully aware of the influence 
he would have over me as a step-father. 

It was all to no purpose. I hated Mr. Leary, and could not help 
it. 

As soon as my mother had definitely made known to me her 
intention of marrying him, I felt a strong inclination to strengthen 
my reputation as a run-away : by running away from home. But 
such an exploit was then a little too grand for a boy of my age 
to undertake — with much hope of succeeding in its accomplish 
ment. I did not like to leave home, and afterwards be compelled 
to return to it — when I might be worse off* than ever. 

I formed the resolution, therefore, to abide in my mother’s — soon 
to be Mr. Leary’s — house ; until circumstances should force me tc 
leave it ; and that such circumstances, would ere long arise, I had a 
painful presentiment. As will be found in the sequel, my pretefil* 
Wont wos too faithfully fulfilled. 


14 


liOBT LBNORB* 


CHAPTER n. 

A SUDDEN CHANGE OF CHARACTER. 

Never have I witnessed a change so great and sudden as came ovei 
Mr. Leary, after his marriage with my mother. 

He was no longer the humble journeyman — with the deport, 
ment of a respectable young fellow striving to retain a situation, 
and gain friends by good conduct. The very day after the wed 
ding, his behaviour was that of a vain, selfish, overbearing plebeian, 
suddenly raised from poverty to wealth. He no longer spoke to 
me in his former feigned tone of kindness ; but with threats, in a 
commanding voice, and in accents far more authoritative, than my 
father had ever used to me. 

Mr. Leary had been hitherto industrious ; but was so no longer 
He commenced, by employing another man to work in the shop 
with me ; and plainly expressed by his actions that his share in the 
business was to be the spending of the money we might earn. 

Up to that time, he had passed among his acquaintances as a 
temperate man ; but in less than three weeks after his marriage he 
came home drunk on as many occasions; and each time spoke to 
my mother in an insulting and cruel manner. 

I took no trouble to conceal from Mr. Leary my opinion of him 
and his conduct ; and it soon became evident to all, that he and I 
could not remain long as members of the same family. 

Our difficulties and misunderstandings increased : until Mr. Leary 
declared that I was an ungrateful wretch — unworthy of his care; 
that he could do nothing with me ; and that I should remain no 
longer in his house ! 

He held a long consultation with my mother, about what was to 
be done with me — the result of which was, that I was to be sent to 
sea. I knew not what arguments he used ; but they were effectual 


OB; THB ADVSNTURSS OF A ROLLING 8TONB. 


15 


with my mother : for she gave consent to his plans ; and I was 
shortly after bound apprentice to Captain John Brannon, of the ship 
“ Hope,” trading between Dublin and New Orleans. 

“ The sea is the place for you, my lad,” said Mr. Leary, after the in- 
denture had been signed, binding me to Captain Brannon. ‘'Aboard 
of a ship, you will learn to conduct yourself in a proper manner, 
and treat your superiors with respect. You are going to a school, 
where you will be taught something, whether you are willing to 
learn it, or not.” 

Mr. Leary thought, by sending me to sea, he was obtaining some 
revenge for my ill-will towards him ; but he was mistaken. Had 
he known what pleasure the arrangement gave me, he would, per- 
haps, have tried to retain me a little longer working in the shop. 
As I had already resolved to leave home, I was only too glad at 
being thus sent away — instead of having the responsibility ot an 
indiscretion resting on myself. I had but one cause for regret ; and 
that was leaving my mother, brother, and sister, to the tender mer- 
cies of a man like Mr. Leary. 

But what was 1 to do ? 1 was not yet fourteen years of age, and 

could not have protected them from him by staying at home. The 
hatred between us was mutual ; and, perhaps, when his spite was no 
longer provoked by my presence, he might treat the rest of the 
family better. This was the only thought that consoled me on 
parting with my relatives. 

1 could do nothing but yield to circumstances, leave them to their 
destiny, whatever that was to be, and go forth upon the world in 
search of my own. 

My brother bore our father’s name, William Stone. He was a 
fair-haired, blue-eyed boy, with a mild, gentle disposition, and was 
liked by everyone who knew him. He never did an action contrary 
to the expressed wishes of those who had any authority over him ; 
and, unlike myself, he was always to be found when wanted. He 
never tried to shirk his work, or absent himself from school. 

My little sister, Martha, was a beautiful child, with curly flaxen 
hair ; and I never gazed on anything more beautiful than her large 
deep blue eyes, which seemed to express all the mental attributes 
of an angel. 

It pained much me to leave little Martha — more than parting 
either with my mother or brother. 

My mother wished to furnish me with a good outfit ; but was 
prevented from doing so by Mr. Lea. y — who said that he could not 


LOST lxnore; 


afford the expense. He declared, moreover, that I did not deservt 
it. 

After my box was sent aboard the ship, and I was ready to follow 
it, little Willie and Martha were loud in their grief; and I had to 
tear myself away from their presence. 

When it came to parting with my mother, she threw her arms 
around me ; and exclaim^, ‘‘ My poor boy, you shall not leave 
me !” 

Mr. Leary gave her a glance out of his sinister eyes, which had 
the effect of suddenly subduing this expression of grief, and “ we 
parted in silence and tears.” 

Often, and for hours, have I thought of that parting scene ; and 
wondered why and how Mr. Leary had obtained so great an in* 
tiuence over the mind of my poor mother. 

1 once believed that she had a will of her own, with the courage 
to show it — an opinion that had been formed from observations 
made during the life of my father; but since her marriage with 
Mr. Leary, she seemed afraid of giving utterance to a word, that 
might express independence, and allowed him, not only to speak but 
think for her. 

1 knew that she had much affection for all of us, her children — 
and her regret at thus sending me, at so early an age to encounter 
the hardships of a long voyage must have been deep and sincere. 

f knew that her heart was nearly breaking at that moment. The 
expression of her features, and the manner which she rung my hand, 
told me so ; and yet the passion of my grief was not equal in 
power to that of her fear for the frowns of Mr. Leary. 

My amiable step-father accompanied me to the ship, which was 
lying in Dublin Bay ; and on our way thither, he became much ex- 
cited with drink. He was so elated with whiskey, and with the 
idea that I was going away, that he did not speak to me in his usual 
unpleasant tone. On the contrary, he seemed all kindness, until 
we had got aboard the ship. 

“ Now my little ‘ Rolling Stone,^ ” said he, when about to take 
leave of me, “ you are going to have plenty of rolling now ; and 
may you roll so far away, as never to roll across my path again.” 

He appeared to think this was very witty : for he was much 
amused at what he had said, and laughed long and loudly. 

I made no reply, until he was in the boat, which was about to 
shove off from the ship : when^ \ooking over the bulwarks, I called 
after him: — 


OB^ THB ADVBVnmBS OF A ROLLINa 810108. 

••Mr. Leary ! if you ill-use my mother, brother, or sister, In my 
absence, I will certainly kill you when I come back^* 

Mr. Leary made no reply, further than to answer me willl 4 
noile that a hyena might miYe enTied* 


18 


LOST LXKOJll; 


CHAPTER III. 

STORMY JACK. 

I’HSRS have been so many stories told of the sufferings of boys, 
when first sent to sea, that 1 shall not dwell long on those that 
befell myself. 

What a world to me was that ship ! I little knew, before it be- 
came my home, how many great men there were in the world. By 
great men, I mean those high in authority over their fellows. 

I went aboard of the ship, with the idea that my positon in it 
would be one which ordinary people might envy. I was guided 
to this opinion by something said by the captain, at the time the 
indentures of my apprenticeship were being signed. No sooner 
were we out to sea, than I learnt that there were at least a dozen i 
individuals on board who claimed the right of commanding my j 
services ; and that my situation on board was so humble, as to 
place me far beneath the notice of the captain in command. I had i 
been told that we were to be friends ; but before we were a week ' 
out, I saw that should it be my lot to be cast overboard, the captain 
might only accidently learn that I was gone. The knowledge of I 
this indifference to my fate was not pleasant to me. On the con- 
trary, 1 felt disappointed and unhappy. 

Aboard of the ship were four mates, two boatswains, a carpenter 
and his mate, and a steward, besides some others who took a little 
trouble to teach me my duty, by giving me orders which were ) 
frequently only given, to save themselves the trouble of doing j 
what they commanded me to do. t 

Only one of these many masters ever spoke to me in a pleasant 
manner. This was the boatswain of the watch, in which I was j 
placed ; who was called by his companions, ** Stormy Jack,” prob- :j 
ably for the reason that there was generally a tempest in his mind, j 
too often expressed in a storm of words. ; 


OR, THK i.DVRNTURKS OF A ROLLING STONE. 


19 


For all this, Stormy Jack was every inch a sailor, a true British 
tar ; and all know what that means. 

Perhaps I should have said, that all know what it might have 
meant in times past ; for Stormy Jack was not a fair specimen of 
English sailors of the present day. The majority of the men 
aboard of British ships are not now as they were thirty years ago. 
English sailors, in general, seem to have lost many of the peculiar- 
ities that once distinguished them from other people ; and a foreign 
language is too often spoken in the forecastle of English ships. 

To return to Stormy Jack. 

One day the carpenter had ordered me to bring him a pannikin 
of water. Leaving a job on which I had been set to work by 
Stormy Jack, I started to obey. In doing so, I caught the eye of 
the latter, who was standing a little to one side, and had not been 
seen by the carpenter as he gave me the order. 

Stormy shook his head at me, and pointed to the work he had 
himself ordered me to perform, in a manner that plainly said, “ go 
at it again.” 

I obeyed this interpretation of his signal, and resumed my task. 

Did you hear what I said 1” angrily shouted the carpenter. 

“ Yes, sir,” I answered. 

“ Then why do you not start, and do what I told you ?” 

I stole a sly glance at Stormy Jack, and seeing upon his face a 
smile, approving of what I did, I made bold to answer, in a some* 
what brusque manner, that I had other work on hand ; and, more- 
over, it was not my business to wait upon him. 

The carpenter dropped his adze, caught up his measuring rule, 
and advanced towards me. 

He was suddenly stopped by the strong hand of Stormy placed 
ftrmly on his shoulder. 

“ x\.vast !” said the sailor, don’t you molest that boy at his 
work. If you do, I am the one to teach you manners.” 

The carpenter was a man who knew “ how to choose an enemy 
and with such wisdom to guide him, he returned to his own work, 
without resenting in any way the check he had thus met with. 

The fact that I had refused to obey the carpenter, and that 
Stormy Jack had interceded in my behalf, became known amongst 
the others who had been hitherto bullying me ; and I was after- 
wards permitted to go about the ship, without being the slave of so 
many masters. 

Some time after the incident above related. Stormy Jack chanced 


20 


LOST LENORE ; 


to be standing near me, and commenced a conversation which was 
as follows: 

“ You are a boy of the right sort,” said he, ‘‘ and I’ll not see 
you mistreated. I heard what you said to the lubber as brought 
you aboard ; and I always respects a boy as respects his mother. I 
hope that man in the boat was not your father.” 

** No,” I answered; “he is my step-father.” 

“ I thought as much,” said Stormy, “ by his appearing so pleased 
to get rid of you. It’s my opinion no one ought to have more 
than one father; but you must brace up your spirits, my lad. 
Two or three voyages will make a man of you ; and you will then 
be able to go back home, and teach the lubber manners, should he 
forget ’em. Do the best you can aboard here to learn your duty 
and I’ll keep an eye on you. If any one goes to boxing your com- 
pass, when you don’t deserve it. I’ll teach him manners.” 

I thanked Stormy for his kind advice ; and promised to do all 
I could to merit his protection. 

After having made a friend of Stormy, and an enemy of the 
carpenter, I began to be more at home on the ship, and took a 
stronger interest in its mysteries and miseries. Familiarity does 
not with all things breed contempt. That it should not is a wise 
provision of Nature, for the accommodation of the majority of 
mankind — whose necessity it is to become familiar with many cares, 
annoyances, and disagreeable circumstances. 

Second nature, or habit, is only acquired by familiarity ; and 
seamen become so familiar with all that is disagreeable in a life 
on the sea, that they are never satisfied long w'ith any home, but a 
floating one. The mind of youth soon becomes reconciled to cir- 
cumstances, however, unpleasant, much sooner than that of an old- 
er person ; and this was probably the reason why, although greatly 
dissatisfied at the beginning of the voyage, I soon became so con 
tented with a life on the sea, that I preferred it to one on land — at 
least, in a home with Mr. Leary as my master. 

Upon occasions. Stormy Jack permitted the storm in his soul to 
rage a little too wildly. One of these occasions occurred about 
two weeks before we reached New Orleans. He had got into a 
dispute with the second mate, about the setting of a sail ; and both 
becoming intemperate in the use of the Queen’s English, words 
were used which had to be resented with violence. 

The first assault was made by the mate, who soon found that he 
was but a child in the hands of Stormy Jack. 


OR, THK ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


21 


The first mate happened to be on deck smoking his pipe, as also 
the carpenter ; and, as in duty bound, both ran to the relief of their 
brother officer. Poor Stormy was knocked down by the carpen- 
ter’s mallet, his hands were tied behind him, and he was dragged 
below. ^ 

The next day I was allowed to take him his dinner, and founc 
him well pleased with his situation. 1 was expecting to see him in 
great grief over his misfortune — which to me appeared very serious 
— and was agreeably surprised to find him in better spirits than I 
had ever seen him before. 

“ It’s all right, Rowley, my boy,” said he. “ If they can afford 
to keep me in idleness, and pay me wages for doing nothing, I’m 
not the one to complain. I’m glad this has happened, for I never 
liked the first breezer, nor yet Chips ; and now I’ve got an oppor- 
tunity for letting them know it. I’m going to leave the ship, and 
when I’ve done so, I’ll teach them manners.” 

I expressed the opinion, that it could not be very pleasant to be 
kept so long in a dark place and alone. 

“ That’s no punishment,” said Stormy. “ Can’t I sleep 1 I’ve 
been served w^orse than this. On a voyage to India I refused duty 
on the second week out. I was put in a pen along with some tur- 
keys and geese, and was told whenever I would go to my duty, I 
should be taken out. I never gave in, and finished the voyage in 
the turkey coop. That was far worse than this ; for the noise on 
deck, with the conversation between my companions, the turkeys 
and geese, often used to keep me from sleep. That was a queer 
plan for teaching a fellow manners ; but I did not let it succeed. . 

“ 1 was going to say one place was as good as another, but it 
a’nt. This ship is no place forme. After we reach New Orleans I 
shall leave it ; and if ever I come across either the first breezer, or 
carpenter, ashore, they’ll both larn wffiat they never knew afore, and 
that’s manners. When two men are fighting, another has no right to 
interrupt either of ’em with a blow of a mallet, and a man who does 
so, has no manners, and wants teachin’.” 

I was pleased to hear Stormy say that he intended to leave the 
ship ; for the idea of doing so myself had often entered my thoughts, 
and had been favourably entertained. 

I had no great hopes of finding a better home than I had on 
board the ship ; but I had been placed there by Leary, and that was 


LOST LENORK ; 


5e2 

sufficient reason for my wishing to leave her. He had driven me 
li-orn my own home, and I would not live in one of his choosing. 

I resolved, therefore, to take leave of the ship if Stormy would 
allow me to become his companion ; and even if he should not, 1 
had more than half determined upon running away. 


THE ADY£NTUK£3 OF A ROLLIHQ MTOSM, 


2 


CHAPTER nr. > 

A CHANGE OF CALLING. 

Two days oefore we reached New Orleans, Stormy Jack expeessed 
some sham contrition for what he had done, with an inclination to 
return to his duty. He was liberated, and once more the deck was 
enlivened by the sound of his rough manly voice giving the neces, 
sary orders for working the ship. 

I found a favourable opportunity of telling him, that 1 should 
like to go along with him. At first he objected to aid me, and 
urged me to remain ; as a reason for my doing so, urging the argu- 
ment : that a boy serving his apprenticeship was much better ofl 
than one wandering about without a home. 

To me this argument was worth nothing. The idea of remain- 
ing for seven years in a situation chosen for me by Mr. Leary, was 
too absurd to be seriously entertained for a moment. I told 
Stormy so ; and he finally consented that 1 should go with him. 

“ My reason for objecting at first,” said he, “ was because I did 
not like to be troubled with you ; but that’s not exactly the right 
sort o’ feeling for a Christian to steer by. One should expect to 
have some trouble with those as need a helping hand, and 1 don’t 
know why I should try to shirk from my share of it.” 

I promised Stormy, that I would try not to cause him any trou- 
ble, or as little as possible. 

“ Of course, you will try,” said he, “ or if you don’t. I’ll teach 
you manners.” 

Stormy’s threat did not alarm me ; and our conversation at the 
time ended — leaving me well pleased with the prospect of getting 
clear of the ship, by his assistance. 

Stormy’s return to duty was only a pretence. It was done to 
deceive the officers — so that heljj^iigbt the more easily find an op- 
Gortunity of escaping from the ship. 


24 


LOST LENORi; 


Two days after our arrival in the port of New Orleans, he was 
allowed liberty to go ashore ; and I was permitted to accompany 
him. The Captain probably supposed that the wages due to 
Stormy would bring him back ; and the suspicion, that a boy like 
myself should wish to leave the ship, had never entered into his 
mind. 

Several of our shipmates went ashore along with us; and the 
first thing we all thought of, was, what the reader will readily 
imagine, to find a place where strong drink was sold. This is 
usually a sailor’s first thought on going ashore after a voyage. 

After having taken two or three glasses with our shipmates^ 
Stormy gave me a wink, and sidled towards the door. I followed 
him ; and slipping unperceived into the street, we turned a cor- 
ner, and kept on through several streets — until we had arrived at 
another part of the city. The little that Stormy had drank, had by 
this time only sharpened his appetite for more. 

“ Here I am,” said he, “ with clear twelve shillings in my pocket. 
What a spell of fun I could have, if ’twas not for you ! Seven 
weeks without a spree, and now can’t have it because I’ve you to 
take care of. Thought ’t would be so. Rowley, my boy ! see what 
I’m suffering for you. You are teaching me manners, whether I’m 
willing to larn ’em or not.” 

I allowed the sailor to go on uninterrupted with his storm of 
complaints ; although there was a reflection in my mind, that if 1 
was keeping him from getting drunk, the obligation was not all on 
my side. 

Stormy had but twelve shillings, and I half-a-crown, which the 
Cap tain had given to me before coming ashore. 

It was necessary that something should be done, before thl» 
money should be all spent. 

Under ordinary circumstances, the sailor need not have felt any 
^prehension, about being out of money. He could easily get em- 
^oyment in another vessel ; but as matters stood, Stormy was 
afraid of being caught, should he attempt to join another ship — ^be- 
fore that from which he had deserted had taken her departure from 
tne port, If caught. Stormy knew he would be punished ; and this 
rendered him a trifle serious. 

The next day we passed in wandering about the city — taking 
care to avoid aU places where we would be likely to meet with any 
of the officers, or men of the ship ** Hope.” 


OR, THK ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


25 


Stormy’s thoughts were all day in a fearful storm, commingled 
with anxiety as to what we should do to make a living. 

“ On your account, Rowley,” said he, “ I’m not misinclined for a 
spell on shore, if I could find anything to do, but that’s the trou- 
ble. There’s not much work ashore, that would be proper for an 
honest man to bear a hand in. What little of such work there is 
here, is done by darkies ; while white men do all the cheating and 
scheming. Howsomever, lad, we must try to get at something.” 

The next day Stormy did try ; and obtained work at rigging a 
new ship, that had just been launched. The job would last for a 
month. The wages were good ; and the storm in Stormy’s mind 
had now subsided into an agreeable calm. 

We sought a cheap lodging-house, not far from where his worK 
was to be performed ; and that evening the sailor indulged in a 
pipe and a glass, from which he had prudently refrained during all 
the day. 

I was unwilling that the burden of supporting me should be 
borne by my generous protector ; and being anxious to do some- 
thing for myself, I asked him what I should go about. 

“I’ve just been thinking of that,” said he, “and I believe I’ve 
hit upon an idea. Suppose you sell newspapers ? I see many lads 
about your age in that business here ; and they must make some- 
thing at it. It’s not hard work ; besides, it appears to be very res- 
pectable. It is a lit’rary business, as no boy should be ’shamed of.” 

I approved ot the plan, and joyfully agreed to give it a trial. 

It was arranged that the next morning I should go to the office of 
a daily paper — buy a bundle of copies ; and try to dispose of them 
at a profit. 

Early the next morning, Stormy started off to his work on the 
ship, and I to a newspaper office. 

1 reached the place too early to get out the papers ; but found 
several boys waiting like myselfi I joined their company, listened 
to them, and was much interested in their conversation, without 
very clearly comprehending what they were talking about. 

I could distinctly hear every word they said ; but the meaning 
of the words I knew not ; for the most of them were slang phrases 
— such as I had never heard before. 

I could see that they were very fast boys — much faster than I 
^as — although the “ Rolling Stone” had not been for several years 
rolling through the streets of Dublin, without learning some city 
sharpness. 


26 


LOST LENORE ; 


1 entered into conversation with two of the boys, in order to find 
out something of the business of newsvending; and could see 
from their manner that they regarded me, as they would have said, 
“ not all thar.” 

They pretended to give me such information as I required ; but I 
afterwards learnt that they had not told me one word of truth. 

When the papers were published, I went in with the others, put 
down a half-a-dollar, and received in exchange the correct number 
of copies. I hurried out, walked some distance from the office, 
and commenced offering my wares for sale. 

On turning down a wide street, I met three gentlemen, each of 
whom took a copy out of my hands and gave me a picayune in re- 
turn. 

I was doing business for myself — buying and selling ; and in my 
soul arose a feeling of independence and pride that has never been 
‘b thoroughly awakened since. 

I passed along the street, till I came to a large hotel, where I saw 
I wo other gentlemen under the verandah. 

I went up to them, offered my goods as before, and each took a 
newspaper. As one of them offered me payment for his copy, I 
had hardly the strength to hand him the paper and take the money. 
1 nearly dropped to the pavement. The man was Captain Brannon, 
of the ship “ H 'pe,” to whom I had been apprenticed. 

I moved away from him as fast as my trembling limbs could 
carry me ; and the glance which I could not help throwing over my 
shoulder, told me that I had not been recognised. 

This was the man, who had promised to treat me as his own 
son ; and yet during a long voyage had taken so little notice of me, 
that I could thus transact business with him, without being recog- 
nised. 

By twelve o’clock my work for the day was finished ; and I re- 
turned to the lodging-house with a dollar in picayune pieces — hav- 
ing made a hundred per cent on my capital. 

I was at that hour the happiest boy in New Orleans. 

I was happy, yet full of impatience, as 1 waited through the long 
afternoon for the return of Stormy Jack. 

There was pride and pleasure in the anticipation of his approval 
of my exertions, when I should show him the money I had made. 
It was the first money I had ever earned — my only transactions 
with the circulating medium before that time, having been to spend 
it, as fast as it could be obtained from a fond father. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 27 

I entered into an elaborate calculation by an arithmetical rule 1 
had learned under the name of “ reduction,” and found that I had 
made in one day, by my own exertions, over two shillings of English 
money. 

1 had pride — pride in my ability to make money at all, and pride 
in my scholastic acquirements, which enabled one so young to tell 
how much had been gained ; for I was not able to comprehend fully 
the amount, until I had brought it into shillings and pence. 

With burning impatience I waited for the return of Stormy. 
Being fatigued, however, I fell asleep, and dreamt of having made 
a fortune, and of having had a fight with Mr. Leary, in which that 
gentleman — to make use of Stormy’s favourite expression — had 
been “ taught some manners.” 

When I awoke, I looked eagerly at a clock. It was past seven 
in the evening, and Stormy Jack had not returned ! 

He had been due more than an hour. The happiness I had been 
all day indulging in, suddenly forsook me ; and a sickening sensa- 
tion of loneliness came over my soul. 

I sat up waiting and watching for him until a very late hour — 
in fact until I was driven to bed by the landlady ; but Stormy did 
not return. 


LOSr LSNORB * 


2d 


CHAPTER V. 

GOD HELP US f 

No week of my life ever seemed so long, as that night spent in 
waiting for the return of Stormy Jack. It was not until the sun 
beams were gushing through my window in the morning, that I was 
able to fall asleep. 

By nine o’clock I was up, and out upon the streets in search of 
my companion and protector. My search was continued without 
success. 

I did not know the name of the ship on which he had gone to 
work ; and therefore I had no clue to his whereabouts. In fact I 
had such a slight clue to guide me, that search was but little less 
than the pursuit of folly. 

I did not like to believe that Stormy had willfully deserted me. 

In my lone and friendless condition, with the memory of the way 
in which I had left my mother, to have thought so, would have 
made me desirous of dying. I had rather think that some serious acci- 
cident had happened him, than that he had abandoned me to my 
tate, to avoid any further trouble 1 might give him. 

Another idea occured to me. He might have been found by 
some of the officers of the “Hope,” and either taken aboard, or 
imprisoned for deserting. This was so probable, that for awhile I 
was tempted to go back to the ship and resume my duties. 

Reflection told me, that if he had fallen into the hands of the 
captain, he would not leave me alone in a city like New Orleans. He 
would tell the captain where I was staying, and have me sent for 
and brought aboard. 

The only, or what seemed the best thing I could do, was to return 
to the lodging-house, and there await the event. 

After a long weary day spent in vain search for my lost compan- 
ion, I carried this idea into eflect, and went back to the lodging- 
house. As I anticipated. Stormy had not returned to it. 

The landlady was a woman of business ; and fancied, or rather 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE 


29 


believed, that my responsible protector had deserted me, leaving 
her with a boy to keep, and a bill unpaid. 

She asked me if I had any money. In reply, I produced all 1 
had. All but one “ picayune” of it was required, for the payment 
of the score we had already run up. 

Now, my lad,” said she, “ you had better try to find some 
employment, where you will earn a living. You are welcome to 
stay here to-night, and have your breakfast in the morning. You 
will then have all day to-morrow to find another home.” 

The next morning, after I had swallowed, my breakfast, she came 
to me and bid me an affectionate “ good bye.” It was a broad 
hint that she neither expected, nor wished me to stay in her house 
any longer. 

I took the hint, walked out into the street, and found myself in a 
crowd, but alone, with the great new world before me. 

“ What shall I do 1” was the question set before a full committee 
of my mental faculties, assembled, or awakened, to deliberate on 
the emergency of the moment. 

I could be a news vender no longer : for the want of capital to 
invest in the business. 

I could return to the ship, and perhaps get flogged for having 
run away ; but I was so disappointed in the treatment I had received 
at the hands of the captain, that nothing but extreme suffering 
could have induced me to seek protection from him. 

The restraint to which I had been subjected on board the ship, 
seemed partly to have emanated from Mr. Leary, and for that rea- 
son was to me all the more disagreeable. 

I wandered about the streets, reflecting on what I should do 
until both my brain and legs became weary. 

I sat down on some steps leading to the door of a restaurant. 
My young heart was still strong, but beating wildly. 

Over the door of a grocer’s shop in front of me, and on the 
opposite side of the street, I read the name “John Sullivan.” At 
sight of this familiar name, a glimmering of hope entered into my 
despairing mind. 

Four years previous to that time, the grocer with whom my 
parents used to deal had emigrated to America. His name was 
John Sullivan. Was it possible that the shop and the name before 
me belonged to this man ? 

I arose, and crossed the street. I entered the shop, and inquired 
of a young man behind the counter, if Mr. Sullivan was at home« 


so 


LOST lenore; 


‘‘ He’s up stairs,” said the youth. “ Do you wish to see him itt 
particular ?” 

1 answered in the affirmative ; and Mr. Sullivan was called 
down. 

The man I hoped to meet was, when I saw him last, a little man 
with red hair ; but the individual who answered the summons of 
the shop boy, was a man about six feet in his stockings, with dark 
hair and a long black beard. 

I saw at a glance, that the grocer who had emigrated from Dublin 
and the man before me were not identical, but entirely different 
individuals. 

“Well, my lad, what do you want?” asked the tall proprietor 
of the shop, looking down on me with a glance of curious inquiry. 

“Nothing,” I stammered out, perhaps more confused than I had 
ever been before. 

“ Then what have you had me called for 1” he asked, in a tone 
that did little to aid me in overcoming my embarrassment. 

After much hesitation and stammering, I explained to him that , 
from seeing his name over the door, I had hoped to find a man of 
the same name, with whom I had been acquainted in Ireland, and , 
who had emigrated to America. ! 

“ Ah !” said he, smiling ironically. “ My father’s great-grand- 
father came over to America about two hundred and fifty years ; 
ago. His name was John Sullivan. Perhaps you mean him ?” ’ 

I had nothing to say in answer to this last interrogation, and was j 
turning to leave the shop. 

“ Stop, my lad !” cried the grocer. “ I don’t want to be at the 
trouble of having come downstairs for nothing. Supposing I was 
the John Sullivan you knew — what then 1’” 

“ Then you would tell me what I should do,” I answered, “ for I 
have neither home, friends, nor money.” 

In reply to this, the tall shopkeeper commenced submitting me 
to a sharp examination — putting his queries in a tone that seemed 
to infer the right to know all I had to communicate. 

After obtaining from me the particulars relative to my arrival in 
the country, he gave me his advice in exchange. It was : to return 
instanter to the ship from which I had deserted. 

I told him that this advice could not be favourably received, until 
I had been about three days without food. 

My rejoinder appeared 'to cause a change in his disposition 
towards me. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 31 

“ William !” said he, calling out to his shop-assistant, ** can’t 
you find something for this lad to do for a few days V* 

William “ reckoned” that he could. 

Mr. Sullivan then returned upstairs ; and I, taking it for granted 
that the thing was settled, hung up my hat. 

The grocer had a family, living in rooms adjoining the shop. It 
consisted of his wife and two children — the eldest a girl about four 
years of age. 

I was allowed to eat at the same table with themselves ; and 
soon became well acquainted with, and I believe well liked by, them 
all. The little girl was an eccentric being, even for a child ; and 
seldom said a word to anyone. Whenever she did speak, she was 
sure to make use of the phrase, “ God help us !” 

This expression she had learnt from an Irish servant wench, who 
was in the habit of making frequent use of it ; and it was so often 
echoed by the little girl, in a parrot-like manner, that Mr. Sullivan 
and his wife — at the time I joined the family were striving to break 
her from the habit of using it. 

The servant girl, when forbidden by her mistress ever to use the 
expression in the child’s presence, would cry out : “ God help us, 
Mem ! I can’t help it.” 

Whenever the words were spoken by little Sarah — this was the 
child’s name — Mrs. Sullivan would say, “ Sarah, don’t you ever say 
that again. If you do, you shall be locked up in the cellar.” 

“ God help us !” little Sarah would exclaim, in real alarm at the 
threat. 

“ There you go again. Take that, and that,” Mrs. Sullivan 
would cry, giving the child two or three slaps on the side of the 
head. 

** Oh, mother ! mother ! God help us !” little Sarah would cry 
out, altogether unconscious of the crime she was committing. 

Every effort made, for inducing the child to refrain from the use 
of this expression, only caused its more frequent repetition ; and 
often in a manner so ludicrous, as to conquer the anger of her pR 
rents, and turn it into laughter. 

When I had been about five weeks with Mr. Sullivan, I was 
engaged one morning in washing the shop windows, and acci- 
dentally broke a large and costly pane of plate glass. A sudden 
shock came over my spirits — one more painful than I had ever ex- 
perienced. Mr. Sullivan had been so kind to me, that to do him 


SS LOST LEKORB ; 

an injury, acciaentiy or otherwise, leemed the greatest xnisfortuBO 
that could happen to me. 

He was up stairs at the time ; and I had not the moral courage 
to face him. Had I waited for him to come down, and see w hat 
had been done, he might have said something that would have pained 
me to hear : but certainly nothing more serious would have hap 
pened, and all would have been well again. 

I must have a disposition constitutionally inclined to absconding. 
To run away, as my mother had often told me, must be my nature. 
I would rather believe than other wise ; since I do not wished to be 
charged with the voluntary indiscretion of deserting a good home. 
It was only an overwhelming sense of the kindness with which 1 had 
been treated, and the injury 1 had inflicted on my benefactor, that 
led me to dread an encounter with Mr. Sullivan. 

Perhaps a boy with a smaller sense of gratitude and less sen- 
sitiveness of soul, would have acted differently ; and yet would have 
acted right : for it is always better to meet a difficulty boldly, than to 
flee in a cowardly manner from the responsibilities attending it. 

Little Sarah Sullivan happened to be in the shop at the time 
[ broke the window. 1 heard her exclaim, “ God help us !” 

I did not stay to hear any more : for in six seconds after, I had 
turned the nearest corner, and was once more homeless in the streete 
af New OrleaiM. 


OR, THR ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 




CHAPTER VI. 

ONCE MORE UPON THE OCEAN. 

I DID not dislike a sea life : and would not nave been dissatisfied 
with any situation on a ship, providing it hari not been procured for 
me by Mr. Leary. 

On running away from Mr. Sullivan’s shop, my inclination was 
to leave New Orleans in some ship; but, unfortunately, 1 knew not 
the proper manner of going to work to accomplish my desires. 

I walked along the levee, till I reached a ship, that was just being 
hauled from the warf — evidently for the purpose of standing down 
the river and out to sea. 

I stepped aboard intending to apply for work ; and after looking 
around for a while, I observed a man who, to all appearance, was 
the captain. 

When asked to give me some situation in the ship, he appeared 
too busy to pay any attention to my request. 

I was on a vessel proceeding to sea ; and knowing my ability to 
make myself useful, I determined not to go ashore without a hear- 
ing. 

I walked forward ; and amidst the confusion of getting the ship 
under way — where there was so mnch to be done — 1 found work 
enough to do, and took much care, while doing it, to keep out 
of the way of others — which, to a boy aboard of a ship, is a task 
of some difficulty. 

No one seemed to take any notice of me that afternoon or even- 
ing ; and about nine o’clock at night I laid down under the long 
boat, fell asleep, and slept till morning. 

I turned out at the earliest hour, and lent a hand at washing the 
decks ; but still no one seemed to know that 1 was not one of the 
ship’s company! 

At eight o’clock the crew were mustered, and divided into watches. 
My name was not called ; and the captain ohwrving the circum* 
stance, requsted me to walk aft. 


34 


LOST lenorb; 


** Who are you ?” asked he, as 1 drew near. 

Something whispered me not to undervalue myself, but to speak 
up with confidence ; and in answer to his demand, I told him that I 
was a Rolling Stone, 

“ A Rolling Stone, are you said the captain. ‘‘Well: what 
have you rolled here for 

“ Because I wanted to go somewhere,” I answered. 

He then asked me if I had ever been at sea ; and, on learning the 
name of the ship I had deserted, he said that she had sailed the 
week before, or he would have sent be back to her. 

He concluded his examination, by giving the steward orders to 
look after me — telling him that 1 could assist in the slop work to 
be done in the cabin. 

To this arrangement I decidedly objected : declaring that I was a 
tailor y and would not be made a cuddy servant! 

I have every reason to believe, that this declaration on my part 
elevated me several degrees in the captain’s good opinion. 

He replied by expressing a hope, that I would not aspire to the 
command of the ship ; and if not, he would see what could be done 
for me. 

The vessel was bound for Liverpool with cotton ; and was owned 
by the captain himself, whose name was Hyland. 

I was never better treated in my life, than on board that ship. 

I was not assigned to any particular occupation, or watch ; but 
no advantage was taken of this circumstance, on the captain’s part, 
to make me do too much ; or by me to do too little. 

I was generally on deck all the day ; and whenever I saw any- 
thing useful that I could do, it was done. 

In this way, both watches had the aid of my valuable services- 
which, however, were not always sufficiently appreciated to prevent 
a few sharp words being applied to me. But a boy aboard of a 
ship soon learns to take no notice of such trifles. 

I was ordered to mess with the sailmaker, who — as I afterwards 
learnt — was directed by the captain to look well after me. 

On our arrival in Liverpool, the ship was docked, and the crew 
went ashore ; with the exception of two men — ^both strangers to 
me — who with myself were left on board. 

One of the men had something to do with the Custom House ; 
and tried hard to induce me to go ashore, along with the rest of the 
crew. But the ship being my only home, I was not willing to leave 
her ; and I resisted all the inducements held out by the Custom 


on, THB ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


35 


House officer to that effect. The captain had gone away from the 
ship, after seeing her safe into port ; but I would not leave the ves- 
sel lest I should never meet him again : for something told me he 
was my truest friend. 

The next day he came on board again ; and seemed rather sur- 
prised at finding me there. 

“ Ah ! little Rolling Stone,” said he, “ I’ve been inquiring for 
you; and am pleased to see you have not gone ashore. What do 
you intend to do with yourself?” 

“ Stay here,” I answered, “ until the ship sails again.” 

“ No, you can’t stop here,” said the captain. “ You must come 
ashore, and live somewhere — until the ship is made ready for sea.” 

He continued to talk with me for half-an-hour ; and obtained 
from me a full account of the circumstances under whicii I had left 
my home. 

‘‘ If I thought that you would stay with me, and do something for 
yourself,” said Captain Hyland, after hearing my story, “ I woul^ 
endeavour to make a man of you.” 

My reply to this was, that I preferred a life on the sea to an;, 
other, and that I left Captain Brannon, for the simple reason that i 
did not like either him, or the man who had placed me under his 
control. 

“Very well,” said the captain, “I’ll keep you awhile on trial ; 
and if you prove ungrateful for what I shall do for you, you will in- 
jure yourself, more than you can me.” 

After this conversation, he took me ashore; bought me a suit of 
clothes ; and then told me to accompany him to his own home. 

I found that Captain Hyland had a wife and one child — a girl 
about ten years of age. 

I thought there could be nothing in the universe more beautiful 
than that girl. Perhaps there was not. Why should not my opin 
ion on such subjects be as correct as that of others ? But no man 
living could have looked upon Lenore Hyland, without being con- 
vinced that she was very beautiful. 

Six weeks passed before the ship was again ready for sea ; and 
during that time I resided at the captain’s house, and was the con- 
stant companion of his little daughter, Lenore. 

In the interval, my kind protector asked me— \^hether I would 
not like to go to Dublin for a few days, stid see my mother. 

I told him that the “ Hope” would then be in Dublin ; and that I 
would certainly be handed over to Captain Brannon. 


86 


LOST LENORE , 


He retiected for a moment; and then allowed the subject to 
drop. 

I did feel some anxiety concerning my relatives; but was too hap- 
py in Liverpool, to change my condition by going to visit them. 

In order to satisfy my conscience, I thought of several reasons 
why I should not go home. They were easily found : for very idi- 
otic, indeed, is that mind that cannot find arguments, in support of 
desires emanating from itself — whether they be right or wrong. 

I knew that in whatever state I might find my relatives — or what- 
ever might have been the conduct of Mr. Leary towards them — 1 
would be powerless either to aid them or punish him. 

I strove my best to make as little trouble as possible in my new 
home, and to gain the good will of Mrs. Hyland. I had every rea 
son to believe that my efforts were successful. 

Injustice to her, I should state that my task was not so difficult 
as it would have been with most women : for she was a kind-heart 
ed lady, who had the discernment to perceive that I was anxious U 
deserve, as well as obtain her esteem. 

Before the ship was ready to sail, Lenore had learnt to call mi 
brother; and when parting with her to go on board, her sorrow wa. 
expressed in a manner that gave me much gratification. 

Perhaps it is wrong for any one to feel pleasure at the demonstra 
tions of another’s ^rief ; but there are circumstances when such wil 
be the case, whether wrong or not. Unfortunate, indeed, is tha 
lonely being, who has not in the wide world one acquaintance fron 
whom he can part, with eyes dimmed by the bright drops of sor 
row. 

There are thousands of seamen, who have wandered long and fa* 
from every early tie of kindred and friendship. They form no otb 
ers; but wander over the earth unloving, unloved and unknown— 
as wretched,' reck less, and lone, as the “ last man,” spoken of by thi 
poet Campbell. 

There is ever a bright spot in the soul of that man, who has rea 
son to believe that there is some one, who thinks of him with kind 
ness when far away; and that one bright spot will often point ou' ' 
the path of virtue — which otherwise might have been passed, undU 
tovered. or unheeded. 


OR THE ADYKNTUSS8 09 A BOLLlNft STONB. 


a? 


CHAPTER vn. 

OHOOlINO A HOBBS. 

The reader may justly say that I have dwelt too long on the inci- 
dents of my early years. As my excuse for having done so, I can 
only urge, that the first parts we play on the stage of life appear of 
more importance to us than what they really are ; and are conse- 
quently remembered more distinctly and with greater interest thaw 
those of later occurrence. 

I will not try to offend in the same way again ; and, as some compen- 
sation for having been too tedious, I shall pass over nearly three 
years of my existence — without occupying much space in describing 
the incidents that transpired during this period. Circumstances aid 
me in doing so ; for these three years were spent in a tranquil, hap- 
py manner. They produced no change in my situation ; for I re- 
mained in the same employment — in the service of Captain Hy- 
land. 

The ship “ Lenore,” owned and commanded by him, was a regu. 
lar trader between Liverpool and New Orleans. 

In our voyages, the captain took as much trouble in trying to 
teach me navigation — and all other things connected with the pro- 
fession of the sea — as he could have done had I been his Qwn son. 

I appreciated his kindness ; and had the gratification to know 
that my efforts to deserve it met with his warmest approbation. 

At every return to Liverpool, and during our sojourn there, his 
house was my home. At each visit, my friendship for Mrs. Hy- 
land, and her beautiful daughter Lenore, became stronger. It was 
mutual too; and I came to be regarded almost as one of the 
family. 

When in Liverpool, I had frequent opportunities of going to 
Dublin to see my mother ; and with shame I confess that I did not 
make use of them. The attractions of my horre in Liverpool 
proved too great for me to leave it — even for a short interval. 


38 


LOST LENORE ; 


I often thought •f going to Dublin ; and reflected with pride on 
the fact that I was getting to be a man, and would be able to pro. 
tect my relatives from any ill-treatment they might have received 
at the hands of Mr. Leary. With all this, I did not go. 

Aboard of the ship, I had one enemy ; who, for some reason not 
fully understood, seemed to hate me as heartily, as one man could 
hate another. This was the first mate who had been with Captain 
Hyland for several years. 

He had witnessed with much disfavour the interest the captain 
took in my welfare, from the time of my first joining the ship ; and 
jealousy of my influence over the latter might have had much to 
do in causing the man’s antipathy towards myself. 

The steward, sail-maker, and one or two others, who were perma- 
nently attached to the vessel, were all friends to the “ Rolling Stone,” 
the name by which I was generally known ; but the hostility of the 
first mate could not be removed by any efforts I made towards that 
end. 

After a time, I gradually lost the nickname of the “ Rolling 
Btone,” and was called by my proper name, Rowland. I suppose 
the reason was, that my actions having proved me willing and able 
to remain for some time in one situation, it was thought that 1 de- 
served to be called a “ Rolling Stone” no longer. 

I had been nearly three years with Captain Hyland, and we were 
in New Orleans — where the ship, lying at the wharf, was left under 
my charge. The captain himself had gone to stay at a hotel in the 
city ; and I had not seen him for several days. 

The first mate was at this time neglecting his duty, and frequent 
ly remained over twenty-four hours absent from the ship. On one 
occasion, just as the latter came aboard to resume his duties, I re- 
ceived intelligence, that the captain was very ill, and wished to see 
me ashore. 

Notwithstanding this message from the captain himself — the 
mate, whose name was Edward Adkins — refused to allow me to 
leave the ship. 

The season was summer ; and I knew that many people were 
dying in the city — which was scourged at the time with yellow 
fever. 

The captain had undoubtedly been taken ill of that disease ; and 
disregarding the commands of the mate, I went ashore with all 
haste to see him. 

I found him, as I had anticipated, suffering from yellow fever. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLINO STONB. 


39 


He had just sufficient consciousness to recognize, and bid me an 
eternal farewell, with a slight pressure of the hand. 

He died a few minutes after ; and a sensation came over me 
similar to that I had experienced a few years before — when bending 
over the cold inanimate form of my father. 

Mr. Adkins became the captain of the “ Lenore,” and at once 
gave me a discharge. My box was sent ashore; and I was not 
afterwards allowed to set foot on board of the ship ! 

1 appealed to the English Consul ; but could obtain no satisi^ao 
tion from him. I could not blame the official : for the mate was 
entitled to the command, and consequently had the right of choosing 
his crew. 

My wages were paid me — besides some trifling compensation 
for being discharged in a foreign port. 

Again the world was before me ; and the question once more 
came up : “ What am I to do 

I wished to return to Liverpool to see Mrs. Hyland and Lenore. 
They were to me as a mother and sister. Who should carry to 
them the sad news of their great misfortune ? Who but myself? 

The beautiful Lenore, I must see her again. I had been fancying 
myself in love with her for some time ; but, now that her father 
was dead I reflected more sensibly on the subject, and arrived at 
the conclusion that I was a fool. I was but seventeen, and she only 
thirteen years of age ! Why should I return to Liverpool ? I had 
a fortune to make ; and why should 1 return to Liverpool. 

I thought of my mother, brother, and sister. They were under 
the ill-treatment of a man I had every reason to hate. They might 
need my protection. It was my duty to return to them. Should I 
|0 ? 

This question troubled me for some time ; but in the end it was 
^ttled. I did not go. 

Many will say that I neglected a sacred duty ; but perhaps they 
have never been placed in circumstances similar to mine. They 
have never been in a foreign country, at the age of seventeen, in a 
city like New Orleans. 

There was at this time a great commotion in the place. The fife 
and drum were continually heard in the streets ; and flags were 
flying from houses in different parts of the city— indicating the 
localities of ** recruiting stations.” 

The United States had declared war against Mexico ; and volun- 
teers were invited to join the army. 


40 


LOST LENORE J 


Among other idlers, I enrolled myself. 

It was probably a very unwise act ; but many thousands hare 
done the same thing ; and I claim an equal right with others to act 
foolishly, if so inclined. We are all guilty of wise and foolish 
actions, or more properly speaking, of good and bad ones ; and 
often when desirous of doing the one, it ends by our committing 
the other. 

After being “ mustered into the service,” we were sent into the 
country to a rendezvous : where the corps to which I belonged, 
which was to form part of a cavalry regiment, received its allotted 
number of horses. 

To have pointed out a particular horse to a ’ 3 ''^ticular man, and 
have said “ that is yours,” would have given occasion for many to 
declare that partiality had been shown. For this reason, an ar- 
rangement was made by which each man was allowed to choose his 
own horse. 

The animals were ranged in a line, by being tied to a rail fence ; 
and then we were all mustered into rank, about two hundred and 
fifty yards to the rear. It was then made known, that on a signal 
being given, each one of us might take the horse that suited him 
best. 

The word of command was at length given ; and a more inter- 
esting foot race was perhaps never witnessed, than came off on that 
occasion. 

I was good at running ; but unfortunately but a poor judge of 
horse flesh. 

Only three or four of the company reached the fence before me ; 
and I had nearly all the horses from which to make my choice 

1 selected one, with a short neck and long flowing tail. He was 
of coal-black colour ; and, in my opinion, the best looking horse of 
the lot. It was an intellectual animal — a horse of character — if 
ever a horse had any mental peculiarities entitling him to such dis- 
tinction. 

It was the first steed I ever had the chance of bestriding ; and the 
movement by which I established myself on his back must have 
been either very cleverly, or very awkwardly executed : since it 
greatly excited the mirth of my companions. 

The horse had a knack of dispensing with any disagreeable en- 
cumbrance ; and having been so long a “ Rolling Stone,” I had not 
yet acquired the skill of staying where I was not wanted. 

When I placed the steed between my legs, he immediately gave 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 4i 

me a hint to leave. I know not whether the hint was a strong one or 
not, but I do know that it produced the result the horse desired : 
since he and I instantly parted company. 

I was informed that the animal came from Kentucky ; and I have 
not the least doubt about this being the case; for after dealing me 
a somersault, it started off in the direction of the “ dark and 
bloody ground,” and was only stopped on its journey by a six foot 
fence. 

Those who were dissatisfied with the result of their choice, had 
permission to exchange horses with any other with whom they 
could make an arrangement. 

In the corps to which I belonged was a young man from the State 
of Ohio, named Dayton. When the scamper towards the horses 
took place, instead of running with the rest, Dayton walked leisure- 
ly along ; and arrived where the horses were tied, after every other 
indivdual in the company had appropriated a steed. The only 
horse left for Dayton had also a character — one that can only be 
described by calling him a sedate and serious animal. 

This horse had a sublime contempt for either whip or spurs ; and 
generally exercised his own judgment, as to the pace at which he 
should move. That judgment equally forbid him to indulge in 
eccentric actions. 

Dayton proposed that we should exchange steeds — an offer that I 
gladly excepted. When my absconding horse was brought back to 
the camp I, made him over to Dayton, by whom he was at once 
mounted. 

The animal tried the same movements with Dayton that had 
proved so successsful with me ; but they failed. He was a good 
rider, and stuck to his horse, as one of the men declared, “ like 
death to a dead nigger.” 

The creature was conquered, and afterwards turned out one of 
the best horses in the troop. 


LOIT LSNOJtS: 


4^i 


CHAPTFR VIII. 

▲K EPISODE OF SOLDIER-LIFE. 

AMBRiOAif authors have written so much about the Mexican war, 
that I shall state nothing concerning it, except what is absolutely 
necessary in giving a brief account of my own adventures — which, 
considering the time and the place, were neither numerous nor ir 
any way remarkable. 

While in the service of the United States during that campaign, ' 
was the constant companion of Dayton. On the march and in the 
field of strife, we rode side by side with each other. 

We shared many harships and dangers ; and such circumstances 
Usually produce firm friendships. It was so in our case. 

Dayton was a young man who won many friends, and made al- 
most as many enemies ; for he took little care to conceal his opinions 
of others, whether they were favourable or not. Although but a 
private, he had more influence among his comrades than any other 
man in the company. The respect of some, and the fear of others, 
gave him a power that no officer could command. 

I did not see much of the war ; as I was only in two actions, those 
of Buena Vista and Cerro Gordo. 

I k Aow that some of the people of Europe have but a very poor 
opinion of the fighting qualities of the Mexicans, and may not dig- 
nify the actions of Buena Vista and Cerro Gordo by the name of 
battles. These people are mistaken. The Mexicans fought well at 
Buena Vista ; notwithstanding that they were defeated by men, 
said to be undisciplined. 

It has been stated in a London paper that the Mexicans are more 
contemptible, as an enemy, than the same number of Chinamen. 

The author of that statement probably knew nothing of either of 
the people he wrote about : and he was thus undervaluing the Mexi- 
cans for no other reason, than that of disparaging the small but 
brave army to which I belonged. 


OR, THE ADVENTITRES OP A ROLLING STONE. 


43 


The Mexicans are not cowards. An individual Mexican has as 
much moral and physical courage as a manof any other country. 

As a general thing they have as little fear of losing life or limb as 
any other people. “ Why then,” some may ask, were they beat- 
en by a few thousand Americans volunteers 1” 

Without attempting to answer this question, I still claim that th« 
Mexicans are not cowards. 

In the battle of Buena Vista I lost the horse obtained by exchange 
from Dayton. The animal had been my constant care and com 
pan ion, ever since I became possessed of him ; and had exhibited sc 
much character and intellect, that I thought almost as much of him, 
as I did of Dayton, my dearest friend. In my opinion, it is not 
right to take horses onto the field of battle. 

I never thought this, until I had my steed shot under me — when 
tne sight of the noble animal struggling in the agonies of death^ 
caused me to make a mental vow never again to go on horseback 
into a battle. 

This resolve, however, I was soon compelled to break. Another 
horse was furnished me the next day— on which I had to take my 
place in the ranks of my corps. 

One day the company to which I belonged had a skirmish with a 
party of guerilleros. 

We were charging them, our animals urged to their greatest speed 
— when Dayton’s horse received a shot, and fell. I could not stop 
to learn the fate of the rider, as I was obliged to keep on with 
the others. 

We pursued the Mexicai\s for about five miles ; and killed over 
half of their number. 

On returning to camp, I traced back the trail over which we had 

r ursued the enemy — in ordoi to find Dayton. After much trouble 
succeeded : and I believe no person ever saw me with more pleas» 
ure than did Dayton on that occasion. 

The dead horse was lying on one of his legs, which had been broken. 
He had been in this situation for nearly three hours ; and with all 
his exertions had been unable to extricate himself. 

After getting him from under the terrible incubus, and making him 
as confortable as possible, I sought the assistance of some of my 
companions. These 1 fortunately found without much trouble, and 
we conveyed our wounded comrade to the camp. Dayton was 
afterwards removed to a hospital ; and jhis was the last 1 saw of him 
during the Mexican war, / 


44 


LOST LENORK ; 


, f had but little active service after this . for my company was 
left behind the main army ; and formed a part of the force required 
for keeping open a communication between Vera Cruz, and the 
captial of Mexico. 

The rest of the time I remained in the army, was only remarkable 
far its want of excitement and tediousness ; aud all in the com- 
pany were much dissatisfied at not being allowed to go on to ihe 
Halls of Montezuma. The duty at which we were kept, was only 
exciting for its hardships ; and American soldiers very soon become 
weary of excitment of this kind. We were only too delighted, 
on receiving orders to embark for New Orleans. 

On the Sunday before sailing out of the port of Vera Cruz, I went 
in search of some amusement ; and commenced strolling through 
town in hopes of finding it. In my walk, I came across a man 
seated under an awning, which he had erected in the street, where 
he was dealing “Faro.” A number of people were betting, against 
his back,” and I lingered awhile to watch the game. 

Amongst others who were betting, was a drunken mule driver, 
who had been so far unfortunate as to lose all his money — amount- 
ing to about one hundred dollars. 

The ‘‘M. D.” — as the mule drivers were sometimes styled, either 
justly, or not, accused the gambler of having cheated him. He 
made so much disturbance, that he was at length forced away from 
the table by others standing around it — who, no doubt, were inter- 
ested in the game. 

The “ M. D;’ went into a publie house near by ; and soon after 
came out again, carrying a loaded rifle. 

Advancing within about twenty paces of the table where the 
gambler was engaged, he called out to the crowed to stand aside, 
and let him have a shot at the “ skunk,” who had cheated him. 

“ Yes,” said the gambler, placing his hand on a revolver, “ stand 
aside, gentlemen, if you please, and let him have a chance !” 

Those between them, obeyed the injunction in double quick time ; 
and, as soon as the space was clear enough to give a line for his bul- 
let, the gambler fired — before the “ M. D.” had raised the rifle to 
his shoulder. 

The mule-driver was shot through the heart ; and the game went 
on ! 

We had an interesting voyage from Vera Cruz to New-Orleans. 

The hardships of the march and camp were over. Some were re. 
turning to home and friends ; and all were noisy — some with high 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


45 


animal spirits, and some with strong ardent spirits, known undei 
the name of rum. 

There was much gambling on the ship, and many rows to enliven 
the passage ; but I must not tarry to describe all the scenes I have 
met, or the narrative of the Life of a “ Rolling Stone” will be drawq 
out too long for the patience of my readers. 

We landed in New Orleans; were. paid what money was due to us, 
and disbanded — each receiving a bounty warrant for one hundred 
and sixty acres of land. 

In the company to which 1 belonged, were some of my country, 
men, who had been in the English army ; and I often conversed with 
them, as to the comparative treatment of the soldiers of the Eng- 
lish and American armies. I shall give the conclusion we came to 
upon this subject. 

A majority of English soldiers have relatives whom they visit and 
with whom they correspond. The reader will easly understand 
that when such is the case, thousands of families in the United King- 
dom have more than a national interest in the welfare of the army, 
and the manner its soldiers are treated. The sympathies of the 
people are with them ; and a soldier, who many be ill-used, has the 
whole nation to advocate his cause. 

The majority of American regular soldiers are isolated beings — so 
far as home and friends are concerned — and about the only interest 
the nation at large takes in their welfare is, that they do thei^ duty, 
acd earn their pay. 

This difference is understood by the soldiers of both armies ; and 
11 has its effeect on their character. 

In England, the army is regarded as an important part of the nation. 

In the United States’ it is not ; but only as a certain assemblage of 
men, employed by the people to do a certain work — for which they 
received good wages, and plenty of food : for in these respects, the 
American soldier has an advantage over the English, almost in the 
ratio of two to one I 


46 


LOST LSNORX; 


CHAPTER IX. 
jl pruitless search. 

There were speculators in New Orleans, engaged in buying land 
warrants from the returning volunteers. I sold mine to one ol them 
for one hundred and ten dollars. Besides this amount, I had about 
fifty dollars saved from my pay. 

I shall now have the pleasure of recording the fact that I made one 
move in the right direction. I set sail for my childhood’s home. 

Conscience had long troubled me, for having neglected to look after 
the welfare of my relatives ; and I embarked for Dublin with a 
mind gratified by the reflection that I was once more on the path ot 
duty. 

So much pleasure did this give me, that 1 resolved ever after to 
follow the guiding of reason, as to my future course in life. The 
right course is seldom more difficult to pursue than the wrong one, 
while the wear and tear of spirit in pursuing it is much easier. 

How many strange thoughts rushed into my brain — how many in- 
terrogations offered themselves to my mind, as we dropped anchor in 
Dublin Bay. Should I find my mother living ? Should I know 
my brother William and my sister Martha ? What had become 
of Mr. Leary ? Should I have to kill him ? 

Such questions, with many others of a similar nature, coursed 
through my soul while proceeding towards the city. 

I hurried through the streets, without allowing anything to distract 
my thoughts from these themes. I reached the house that had been 
the home of my childhood. 

At the door, I paused to recover from an unusua* amount of excite- 
ment ; but did not succeed in quelling the tumultuous emotions 
that thrilled my spirit with an intensity I had never experienced 
before. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING BTONB. 


47 


1 looked cautiously into the shop. It was no longer a saddle and 
harness-maker’s, but a dingy depot for vending potatoes, cabbages, 
and coals ! 

I thought a great change must suddenly have taken place in the 
whole city of Dublin. 

It did not occur to me, that six years was a sufficient period of time 
lor turning a saddler’s shop into a greengrocer’s — without any rea- 
son for being surprised at the transformation. 

I stepped inside ; and inquired of a stout, red-haired woman the 
whereabouts of a Mrs. Stone, who formerly occupied the premises. 

The woman had never heard of such a person ! 

It suddenly occured to me — and I heaved a sigh at the recollection 
— that my mother’s name was not Stone, but that she was Mrt. 
Leary. 

I renewed my inquiry, substituting the latter name. 

“ Mistress Leary ?” said the vulgar-looking hag before me *, lift 
here five year ago.” 

The vender of cabbages did not know where Mrs. Leary had 
gone. Neither did I ; and this knowledge, or rather absence of 
knowledge, produced within me a train of reflections that were new 
and peculiar. 

I turned out of the house, and w'alked mechanically up the street. 
A liimiliar name met my half vacant gaze. It was painted on a 
sign, over the door of a cheese-monger’s shop — Michael Brady. 

I remember that Mrs. Brady, the wife of the man whose name 
I saw, was the intimate acquaintance and friend of my mother. 
Perhaps, I might learn something from her ; but what, I almost 
feared to ascertain. 

I went into the shop, and found Mrs. Brady seated among her 
cheeses. She did not look a day older than when I last saw her. 
When asked, if she remembered ever having seen me before, she 
gazed at me for some time, and made answer in the negative. 

I was not astonished at her reply, I could easily understand her 
stupidity : my appearance must have greatly altered since she had 
seen me last. 

“ Do you remember the name of Rowland Stone 1” I asked. 

“ What ! the little Rolling Stone 1” she exclaimed, gazing at me 
again. “ I do believe you are,” said she. “ Now when I look at 
you, 1 can see it is. How you have changed !” 

“ What has become of my mother ?” I cried out, too impatient 
to listen longer to her exclamatory reflections. 


48 


LOST LENORB 


“ Poor woman !” answered Mrs. Brady, “ that’s what I hare 
wished to know for many years.” 

I was called upon to exercise the virtue of patience — while try- 
ing to obtain from Mrs. Brady whao information she could give 
concerning my family. With much time spent and many questions 
put, I obtained from her the following particulars : 

After my departure, Mr. Leary became very dissipated, and 
used to get drunk every day. Whenever he sold anything out of 
the shop, he would go to a public-house, and stay there until the 
money obtained for the article was spent. He would then return ; 
abuse my mother ; beat the children ; take something else out of 
the shop ; and pawn it for more money to spend in drink or dissi- 
pation. This game he had continued, until there was nothing left 
in the establishment that Mr. Leary could sell for a shilling. 

The neighbors remonstrated with my mother for allowing him 
to proceed in this manner ; but the deluded woman seemed to 
think that everything done by her husband was right ; and was 
even offended with her friends for interfering. No arguments 
could persuade her that Mr. Leary was conducting himself in an 
improper manner. She appeared to think that the drunken black- 
guard was one of the best men that ever lived ; and that she had 
been exceedingly fortunate in obtaining him for a husband ! 

When Mr. Leary had disposed of everything in the shop, and 
had spent the proceeds in drink, he absconded — leaving my mother 
brother and sister to suffer for the necessaries of life. 

Instead of being gratified at getting clear of the scoundrel, my 
mother was nearly heartbroken to think he had deserted her ! 

Her first thought was to find out where he had gone. He had 
served his apprenticeship in Liverpool ; and my mother had reasons 
to believe that he had betaken himself thither. The house in which 
she resided, had been leased by my father for a long term. At the 
time Mr. Leary deserted her, the lease had several years to run. 
Since the time when it had been taken, rents in the neighborhood 
had greatly risen in value ; and my mother was able to sell the 
lease for ninety pounds. Obtaining this sum in cash, she left 
Dublin with her children; and proceeded to Liverpool to find Mr. 
Leary, as Mrs. Brady said, that she might give him the money to 
spend in drink ! 

My mother’s friends had advised her to remain in Dublin ; and 
told her that she should be thankful he had deserted her ; but their 
advice was either unheeded, or scornfully rejected. In spite of all 


OK, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLINO flONS. 


49 


remonstrance, she took her departure for Liverpool ; and Mrs. 
Brady had never heard of her again. 

I was intensely interested in what was told me by Mrs. Brady. 
For awhile, I believed that my poor beguiled parent deserved her 
fate, however bad it may have been ; and I was half inclined to 
search for her no more. But when I came to reflect that nearly 
five years had elapsed since she left Dublin, I fancied that, if unfor- 
tunately successful in finding Mr. Leary, she might by this time 
have recovered from her strange infatuation concerning him. 
Though for her folly, she deserved almost any fate Mr. Leary might 
bring upon her, I believed it to be my duty to see her once more. 
Besides, I had a strong desire to renew the rudely broken links of 
affection, that had existed between myself and my sister and 
brothers. 

When a boy, I was very proud of having a sister like little 
Martha ; she was so kind, affectionate, and beautiful. And 
William, too, I remembered him with a brother’s fondness. Al- 
though my mother had acted ever so foolishly, it was not the less 
my duty to look after her. Perhaps, for her unaccountable delu- 
sion, she had been by this time sufficiently punished. It was my 
desire to find her, if possible, and learn if such was the case. She 
was my mother, and I had no other wish than to act towards her as 
a son. 1 determined, therefore, to proceed to Liverpool. 

I may confess that something more than duty summoned mo 
thither — something even stronger than filial affection. It was th* 
design of visiting Mrs. Hyland— ^or, rather her daughter. I knew 
there would be danger to my happiness in again seeing Lenore ; 
and I strove to strengthen my resolution by the belief that I was 
acting under a call of duty. 

I had been with Captain Hyland when he died, I alone saw his 
eyes closed in death, and alone followed him to the grave. Why 
should I not visit his wife and child 1 

I could fancy that that pressure of the hand given me by the Cap- 
tain in his dying struggle, was a silent command to me — to carry 
to them his last blessing. 

Besides, Mrs. Hyland had been very kind to myself ; and during 
my sojourn in Liverpool, had made her home to me both welcome 
and pleasant. Why should I refrain from seeing her again — simply 
because her daughter was beautiful ? I could think of no sufficient 
reason for denying myself the pleasure. The dread of its leading 
to pain was not enough to deter me ; and I resolved to renew my 
acquaintance with Lenore. 


50 


LOST LENORK ; 


Before leaving Dublin, I tried to get some information that would 
aid me in my search after Mr. Leary and my relatives ; but was 
unsuccessful. None of Mr. Leary’s former acquaintances could 
give me any intelligence as to what part of the city of Liverpool he 
might be found in. I could only learn that my mother, before 
leaving, had some knowledge to guide her which had probablv 
been obtained, sometime or other, from Mr. Leary himself. 

In my search, therefore, I should have no other traces than su^r 
aa ehance night throw in my way. 


OR, THE A.DVE2TTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 




CHAPTER X. 

A CHILLING RECEPTION. 

I DO not like Liverpool as a city ; and less do I admire a majority 
of its citizens. Too many of them are striving to live on what they 
can obtain from transient sojourners. Being the greatest shipping 
port in the United Kingdom — from which various lines of steamers 
take their departure — it affords its inhabitants too easy opportuni- 
ties for exercising their skill — in obtaining the greatest amount of 
money for the least amount of service — opportunities of which many 
of them are not slow to avail themselves. 

My dislike to the people of Liverpool may perhaps, arise from 
the fact that 1 claim to be a sailor ; and that thousands of people in 
that great seaport — from beggars, thieves, and the like who crowd 
its crooked, narrow, dirty streets in search of a living, up to mer- 
chants, agents, and ship-owners — imagine that there is no harm in 
taking advantage of a sailor, and, under this belief, seldom lose an 
opportunity of doing so. 

The first thing 1 did after arriving in this precious seaport, was to 
possess myself of a city directory, and make a list of all the saddle 
and harness makers in the place — putting down the address of each 
opposite his name. 

1 then wrote a note to each of them — requesting, that if they 
knew anything of a journeyman saddler named Matthew Leary, 
they would have the goodness to communicate with me ; if not, no 
answer to my note would be required. 

Having completed this interesting correspondence — which occu. 
pied me the w^hole of a day — 1 repaired to the residence of Mrs. 
Hyland. 

There had been no change there. I found her still living in the 
same house, where years before, I had parted with her and her 
daughter. 

I was conducted into the drawing room ; and the next instant one 
®f the most beautiful creatures man ever ^held stood before me. 


52 


LOSr LENORB ; 


Lenore was beautiful when a child ; and time had only deyelope(J 
her young charms into the perfection of feminine loveliness. To 
me, her beauty transcended everything I had ever seen ; although 1 
had been in Dublin, New Orleans, and Mexico — three places which 
are not the least favoured with the light of woman’s loveliness. 

Lenore was now sixteen years of age, and looked neither more 
nor less. The only description 1 can give of her is that there was 
nothing remarkable about her, but her beauty. 1 can give no par- 
ticulars of how she appeared. If asked the colour of her hair and 
eyes, 1 should have been unable to tell ; I only knew that she was 
beautiful. 

1 was painfully disappointed at the reception she gave me. She 
did not meet me with those manifestations of friendship I had anti- 
cipated. It was true that 1 had been a long time away ; and her 
friendship towards me might have become cooled by my protracted 
absence. But this was a painful consideration. 1 endeavoured to 
dismiss it — at the same time I strove to awaken within her the 
memories of our old companionship. 

To my chagrin, 1 saw that I was unsuccessful. She seemed to la- 
bour under some exciting emotion ; and 1 could not help fancying 
that it was of a painful character. 

Her whole behaviour was a mystery to me ; because so different 
from what it had formerly been, or what I had hoped to find it. 

I had left Lenore when she was but little more than a child, and 
she was now a young lady. 

In the three years that had intervened, there was reason for me 
to expect some change in her character. With her mother, no 
change I presumed could have taken place. I left Mrs. Hyland a 
woman ; and such I should find her, only three years older. In her 
I expected to meet a friend, as I had left her. She entered the 
room. I was again doomed to disappointment ! 

She received me with even more coldness than had been exhibi- 
ted by Lenore. She did not even offer me her hand ; but took a 
seat, and with a more unpleasant expression than I had ever before 
observed on her face, she waited apparently with impatience for 
what I might have to say. 

The sensitive feelings of my soul had never been so cruelly 
wounded. 1 was in agony of anger and disappointment ; and una- 
ble any longer to endure the painful excitement of my emotions, I 
uttered a few common-place speeches, and hastily withdrew from 
their presence. 

What could their conduct mean ? In the excited state of my 


OR, TUB ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONM. 


53 


thoughts, I was unable to form even a conjecture, that seemed in 
any way consistent with my knowledge of their previous character. 

it might be that when Lenore was a child, and I was a boy, they 
had seen no harm in befriending and being kind to me ; but now 
that Lenore was a young lady, and 1 a man — a sailor, too — they 
might have reasons for not having any further acquaintance with 
me. 

Could it be that they were endued with that selfishness — in this 
world possessed by so many ? That they had been my friends only 
because Captain Hyland was my protector — to fall away from me 
now', that his protection could be no longer extended to me ? 

1 could hardly think this possible ; for it would be so much out 
of keeping with all that I had ever known of the character either of 
Mrs. Hyland, or her daughter. 

1 had long anticipated great pleasure in revisiting them ; and had 
thought when again in their presence 1 should be with friends. — 
Never had I been so cruelly disappointed ; and for awhile I fancied 
that I should never care to meet with old acquaintances again. 

I am capable of forming strong attachments. 1 had done so for 
Mrs. Hyland and her daughter, and their chill reception had the 
effect of causing me to pass a sleepless night. 

In the morning, I was able to reflect with a little more coolness, 
as well as clearness. A cause, perhaps, the cause, of their strange 
conduct suddenly suggested itself to my mind. 

Adkins, the first mate of the ship Lenore, had been, and, no 
doubt, still was— my enemy. He had turned me out of the ship 
in New Orleans ; and had, in all likelihood, on his arrival in Livei^ 
pool, poisoned the mind of Mrs. Hyland, by some falsehood, of 
which 1 w'as the victim — I knew the scoundrel to be capable of do- 
ing this, or any other base action. 

There was a consolation in the thought that this explanation 
might be the real one, and for a while it restored the tranquility of 
my spirit. 

1 would see them again ; demand an explanation j and if my 
suspicions proved true, I could refute any charge ptiade against 
—so as once more to make them my friends. 

1 did not desire their friendship from any personal mptives. It 
might not now be worth the trouble of having it restored ; but in 
memory of their past kindness, and out of regard for my own cha- 
racter, T could not leave them under the impression that I had been 
ungrateful. 

Alas ! there was a deeper motive for my desiring an explanatioa 


54 


LOST LENORie y 


Their friendship was worth restoring. It was of no use my endear 
curing to think otherwise. The friendship of a beautiful creature 
like Lenore was worth every thing. The world to me would be 
worthless without it. I was already wretched at the thought of 
having lost her good opinion. I must again establish myself in it ; 
or failing, become more wretched still. 

The next day, I returned to the residence of Mrs. Hyland. I 
saw her seated near the window, as I approached the house. I saw 
her arise, and retire out of sight — evidently after recognising me. 

I rang the bell. The door was opened by a servant — who, with- 
out waiting to be interrogated, informed me that neither Mrs. nor 
Miss Hyland were at home ! 

I pushed the door open ; passed the astonished domestic ; enter- 
ed the hall ; and stepped unceremoniously into the apartment — in 
the window of which I had seen Mrs. Hyland. 

No one was inside — excepting the servant, who had officiously fol- 
lowed me. I turned to her, and said in a tone savouring of com- 
mand : 

“ Tell Mrs. Hyland, that Mr. Rowland Stone is here, and will 
not leave until he has seen her.” 

The girl retired, and soon after Mrs. Hyland entered the room. 
She did not speak ; and waited to hear what I had to say. 

“ Mrs. Hyland,” I began, “ I am too well acquainted with you, 
and respect you too much, to believe that I am treated in the man- 
ner I have been, without a good cause. Conscious of having done 
nothing intentionally to injure you, or yours, I have returned to 
demand the reason why your conduct towards me has undergone 
such a change. You once used to receive me here as though I was 
your own son. What have I done to forfeit your friendship 1” 

“ If your own conscience does not accuse you,” she answered, “ it 
is not necessary for me to give you an explanation ; for you might 
not understand it. But there is one thing I hope you will under- 
stand ; and that is, that your visits here are no longer either wel- 
come or desirable.” 

“ 1 learnt that much yesterday,” said I, imitating in a slight de- 
gi-ee the air of sneering indifference, in which Mrs. Hyland address- 
ed me. “ To-day I have called for an explanation. Your own 
words imply that I was once welcome; and I wish to know why 
such is no longer the case *?” 

“ The explanation is, then, that you have proved unworthy of our 
friendship. There is no explanation that yow can give, that will re- 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


55 


move the impression from my mind that you have been guilty of 
ingratitude and dishonesty towards those who were your best 
friends ; and I do not wish to be pained by listening to any attempt 
you may make at an apology.” 

I became excited. Had the speaker been a man, my excitement 
would have assumed the shape of anger. 

“ I only ask,” I replied, endeavoring, as much as possible, to con- 
trol my feelings, “ I only ask, what justice to you, as well as my- 
self, demands you to give. All I require is an explanation ; and I 
will not leave the house, until I have had it. I insist upon know- 
i )f what I am accused.” 



Mrs. Hyland, apparently in high displeasure at the tone I had 
assumed, turned suddenly away from me, and glided out of the 
room. 

To calm my excitement, I took up a paper and read, or attempt- 
ed to read. 

For nearly half-an-hour I continued this half involuntary occupa- 
tion. At the end of that time, I stepped up to the fire, caught hold 
of the bell-pull, and rang the bell. 

“ Tell Miss Lenore,” said I, when the servant made her appear- 
ance, “ that I wish to see her ; and that all the policemen in Liver- 
pool cannot put me out of this house, until I have done so.” 

The girl flounced back through the door, and shortly after Le- 
nore, with half of a smile on her beautiful face, entered the room. 

She appeared less reserved than on the interview of the day be- 
fore ; and, if possible, more lovely. I was too happy to interpret 
from her deportment, that she had not yet entirely forgotten the 
past ; and that what I now wished to know, she would not hesitate 
to reveal. 

“ Lenore,” said I, as she entered, “ in you I hope still to find a 
friend — notwithstanding the coldness with which you have treated 
me ; and from you I demand an explanation.” 

“ The only explanation I can give,” said she, “ is, that mamma 
and I have probably been deceived. There is one who has accused 
you of ingratitude, and other crimes as bad — perhaps worse.” 

“ Adkins !” I exclaimed. ‘‘ It is Adkins,, the first mate of the ship 
‘ Lenore !* ” 

“ Yes ; it is he who has brought the accusation ; and, unfortu- 
nately, whether false or no, your conduct has been some evidence 
of the truth of the story, he has told us. Oh ! Rowland, it was 
hard to believe you guilty of ingratitude and crime ; but your 


56 


L08T LENORE : 


long absenoe, unexplained as it was, gave colour to what has been 
alleged against you. You have never written to us ; and it will 
be nearly impossible for you to be again reinstated in the good opin- 
ion of my mother.” 

“ In yours, Lenore 

She blushingly held down her bead, without making reply. 

“ Will you tell me of what I am accused ?” asked I. 

“ I will,” she answered. “ And, Rowland, before I hear one 
word of explanation from you, learn this : I cannot believe you 
guilty of any wrong. I have been too well acquainted with you to 
believe that you could possibly act, under any circumstances, as 
you have been accused of doing. It is not in your nature.” 

** Thank you, Lenore said I, with a fervour I could not restrain 
myself from showing. “ You are now as you have ever been, more 
beautiful than anything in the world, and wise as you are beauti- 
ful.” 

“ Do not talk thus, Rowland ! Nothing but your own words 
can ever change the opinion I had formed of your character — long 
ago, when we were both children. I will tell you why my mother 
is displeased with you. There are more reasons than one. First, 
when my father died in New Orleans,^ Mr. Adkins brofight back 
the ship; and you did not return in it. We were surprised at 
this ; and called Mr. Adkins to account for not bringing you home. 
He did not appear willing to give us any satisfaction concerning 
you ; but we would insist on having it ; and then, with apparent re- 
luctance, he stated that he had not wished to say anything against 
you — fearing that from our known friendship for you, it might be 
unpleasant for us to hear it. He then told us, that you had not 
only neglected, and proved cruel to my father — when on his death- 
bed — but, that, as soon as it became certain there was no hope of 
his recovery, you behaved as though you thought it no longer 
worth while to trouble yourself with a man, who could not live to 
repay you. He said that you had previously deserted from the 
ship, and left my father — notwithstanding his earnest entreaties 
that you should remain with him. It cannot be true. I know it 
cannot be true ; but so long as my mother thinks there is a parti- 
cle of truth in Mr. Adkins’ statement, she will never forgive you. 
Your accuser has also stated that when you left the ship, you took 
with you what was not your own ; but this he did not tell us until 
several months had elapsed, and there appeared no probability of 
your returning.” 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


57 


“ What has become of Mr. Adkins now 1” I asked. 

“ He is on a voyage to New Orleans in the ‘ Lenore.* He ob- 
tained my mother’s confidence, and is now in command of the 
ship. Lately he has been trying to make himself more disagree- 
able to myself — by professing for me — what he, perhaps, believes 
to be an affection. Oh ! it is too unpleasant to dwell upon. My 
mother listens, I fear, too consentingly, to all he has to say ; for she 
is grateful to him for his kindness to my father before he died — and 
for the interest he appears ever since to have taken in our welfare. 
His manner towards us has greatly changed of late. Indeed, he 
acts as if he were the head of our family, and the owner of the ves- 
sel. 1 believe he is expected to return to Liverpool at any time : 
as the time for the voyage has expired, and the ship has been due 
for some days.” 

“ I wish he were in Liverpool wow,” said I. ** When he does 
arrive, I will make him prove himself a liar. Lenore ! I have ever 
been treated with the greatest kindness by your father and mother. 
It is not in my nature to be either ungrateful or dishonest. Your 
father’s ship was my home ; I did not leave that home without 
good reason. I was turned out of it by the very villain who has 
accused me. I shall stay in Liverpool until he returns ; and when 
I have exposed him, and proved myself still worthy of your friend- 
ship ; I shall again go forth upon the world with a light heart, as I 
can with a clear conscience.” 

Requesting Lenore to tell her mother that she had been deceived 
— and that I should stay in Liverpool till I proved that such was the 
case — I arose to take my departure. I lingered only to add : 
that I would not again annoy them with my presence until the re- 
turn of the ship — when I should challenge Adkins to appear before 
them, and prove him guilty of the very crimes he had charged my- 
self — ingratitude and dishonesty. 

With this promise did 1 close my interview with Lenore. 


58 


LOST L£>'OKS^ 


CHAPTER XI. 

ON THE TRACK OF MR. LEART. 

After leaving Mrs. Hyland’s house I had much to occupy my 
thoughts. The principal subject that engaged their attention was 
the wonderful beauty of Lenore. 

She was beautiful ; and she professed to be my friend. But while 
I felt a consoling pride in possessing the friendship of one so lovely, 
there was much that was unpleasant in the thought that her mother 
could even for an instant, have believed me guilty of the grave 
charges brought up against me by Adkins. 

To be thought ungrateful by one who had treated me with so 
much kindness, and more especially one who was the mother of 
Lenore, was a reflection full of bitterness. 

Adkins had now done enough to make me his deadly enemy. 

He had never used me well aboard ship ; and would have 
caused me still more trouble there had he not been restrained by 
his fear of Captain Hyland. He had turned me out of the ship in 
New Orleans. He had returned to Liverpool, and accused me of 
the basest of crimes. 

But what was still more unpleasant to dwell upon : he was en- 
deavoring to deprive me of what was of almost equal consequence 
with my character — of her whom I had hoped might one day be- 
come my wife. Yes, there could be no doubt of the fact. He was 
trying to win Lenore. 

This last I could scarce look upon as a crime on his part. To 
aspire to win one so lovely was no crime ; and one who should do 
so would only be acting as Nature commanded. 

But at that time, I did not view it in this light; and the idea of 
Edward Adkins aspiring to the hand of Lenore Hyland was proof 
to me that he was the vilest wretch that ever encumbered the 
earth. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 59 

For a while I forgot my hatred for Mr. Leary in my dislike to 
Mr. Adkins. 

Hatred with me had never before reached a thirst for revenge ; 
but to this degree of hostility had it attained, within an hour after 
leaving Lenore. 

But what could I do ? When my enemy returned, I could confront 
him in presence of Lenore and her mother. I could make one 
statement ; which he would certainly contradict by making another. 
1 was in a country where the laws do not allow a man any chance 
of obtaining redress for the cruelest wrong, or insult, he may 
suffer. 

I passed that night, as the preceding one, without sleep. 

The day after that on which I had addressed my letters to the 
saddle and harness makers of Liverpool, I received answers from 
two of them — both men had been acquianted with Mr. Leary. 

I lost no time in calling upon these correspondents. 

One of them frankly informed me that Mr. Leary’s time, as an 
apprentice, had been served in his shop ; that he did not think him 
exactly honest ; and had been only too glad to get rid of him. He 
had not seen or heard anything of Mr. Leary for seven years ; and 
hoped never to behold that individual again. He had taken Leary, 
when a boy, from the workhouse ; and believed he had no relatives, 
who would know where he was to be found. 

I called on the other saddler, and learnt from him that Mr. Leary, 
after having served his time, had worked in his establishment as a 
journeyman ; though only for a very short while. Leary had left 
him to go to Dublin ; but had returned three or four years after- 
wards, and had again been employed by him for a few days. On 
leaving the second time, Mr. Leary had engaged to go out to New 
South Wales, with a saddle and harness maker from that colony; 
who, as the Liverpool tradesman laughingly stated, had been so 
foolish as to pay for Leary’s passage, in the hope of being repaid 
by his services after he got there. 

With painful interest, 1 inquired w'hether Mr. Leary had taken 
along with him to Australia a wife and family. 

No,” said the saddler ; “ nothing of the kind. He was not able 
to do that : since he had to tell a thousand lies to induce the saddler 
to take himself. But I remember, there was a woman from Dub- 
lin inquiring for him after he had sailed ; and she, poor creature, 
appeared well nigh heart broken, when she learnt that he had gone 
without her, I suppose she must have been his wife.” 


<50 


L06T LENOKE ; 


The saddler had heard nothing since from either Leary or the 
woman. 

A part of this intelligence was very satisfactory. My mother 
had not found Mr. Leary in Liverpool, and that wretch was now far 
away. 

But where was my mother ? Where had she and her youngest 
children been for the last five years ? How should I learn their 
fate ? 

Surely I had plenty of work before me. My relatives were to be 
found ; and this would be no easy task ; since I had not the slightest 
clue to guide me in the search. I had to convince Mrs. Hyland 
that I was still worthy of her friendship. 1 had to obtain revenge 
on my enemy Adkins ; and a greater task than all would still re- 
main. I had to win, or forget Lenore. 

My last interview with her, had revived within my mind the sweet 
remembrances of the past, along with thoughts of the present, and 
dreams of the future — thoughts and dreams that would not again 
sleep. A mental vision of her loveliness was constantly before me. 
What was I to do first ? I had but little money in my pockets ; 
and could not leave Liverpool at present to obtain more. I must 
stay until the return of Adkins ; and it would not do to spend my 
last shilling in idly waiting. 

Without friends I could only get such occupation, as required the 
severest labour to perform ; but, fortunately for that, 1 had the will, 
health, and strength. 1 feel a pride in stating, that 1 acted, as a man 
should under the circumstances. Instead of strolling about in hope- 
less idleness, 1 went to the docks, and obtained labourer’s work. 

For two weeks I worked at handling cotton bales, and bags of su- 
gar. The toil was humble, and the pay for it was proportionately 
small ; but duty commanded me, and 1 worked on, cheered by 
hope, and without repining at my fate. 

Sometimes in the evening, 1 would walk up and down the street 
in front of the residence of Mrs. Hyland — with the hope of seeing 
Lenore, or with the knowledge of being near her, whether she might 
be seen or not. I found pleasure even in this. 

I did not like to call on her again — until I had given her mother 
some proof of my innocence. 

Sometimes it occurred to me to ask myself the question, why 
should I see her more, even after I had cleared myselfl She was 
beautiful, dangerously beautiful ; and I was friendless, homeless, 
and without fortune. Why should 1 endanger my future peace of 


OR, THB ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 

mind, by becoming more and more infatuated with one whose heart 
[ could scarce hope ever to possess ? 

Duty as well as reason told me to pursue the search for my rela- 
tives, and see Lenore Hyland no more. But where is the hear*i 
love-stricken that will listen to the call, either of reason, or duty 1 
Mine did not, and could not. It was deaf to such an appeal. 1 
could think only of Lenore ; yearn to see her again-^ to speak with 
her — to listen to her — to love her ! 


62 


LOSr LBBORE ; 


CHAPTER XIL 

Alf ENCOUNTER WITH A COWARD. 

About a week after my interview with Mrs. Hyland and her 
daughter, I saw what I had been daily looking for — a notice in one 
of the Liverpool papers, under the head of “ Shipping Intelligence,” 
announcing the arrival of the ship Lenore,” Captain Adkins, from 
New Orleans. 

After reading the notice, I hastily flung aside the paper ; and 
proceeded direct to the docks — where I found the vessel had al- 
ready arrived. 

As 1 might have expected, Adkins was not aboard. He had 
landed several hours before, while the ship was still in the river. — 
Having ascertained the name of the hotel where he was in the habit 
of staying, while in Liverpool, I lost no time in loitering on board 
the ship, but went in search of him. On reaching the hotel, I found 
that he had slept there the night before, but had gone out after 
breakfast in the morning. 

My conjecture was, that he would be found at the house of Mrs. 
Hyland ; and it now occurred to me that I had been wonderfully 
stupid in not looking for him there in the first instance. 

From the hotel, I proceeded direct to Mrs. Hyland’s residence : 
as I walked along, anticipating much pleasure in the task of com- 
pelling Adkins to refute his own falsehoods. I feared, however, 
that shame would hinder him telling the truth ; and that even in my 
presence he would stick to his infamous story. I feared it ; because 
1 did not wish to kill him. 

As I had conjectured, he was visiting at Mrs. Hyland’s. Just as 
1 reached the door, Adkins was coming out. 

I controlled my temper as well as I could. I did not wish to de- 
feat my purpose by an exhibition of idle anger. 


OR, THE A.DVENTURE8 OF A ROLLING STONE. (53 

“ Good morning, Mr. Adkins !” said I. “We meet again ; and I 
assure you, on my part, with profound pleasure.” 

He would have passed without speaking ; had I not placed my 
body so as to block the way. 

“ Who the devil are you; and what do you want?” he asked, 
with a bullying tone and air that I had often known him assume be- 
fore. 

“ I am Rowland Stone,” I answered, “ and I wish to see you on a 
matter of considerable importance.” 

“ You see me then ! what the important business 1” 

“ It can be only made known in the presence of Mrs. Hyland and 
her daughter.” 

“Mrs. Hyland does not wish to see you,” said Adkins, “and 
much less her daughter, I should think. As for myself, I want 
nothing to do with you.” 

“I can believe the latter part of your assertions,” I answered; 
“but it is recessary that we should sometimes do what may not be 
exactly agreeable to us. If there is a spark of manhood in you, walk 
back into the house, and repeat to Mrs. Hyland in my presence, 
what you have said behind my back.” 

“ I shall not take the trouble to do anything of the kind. I tell 
you again, I want nothing to say to you. Give me the way !” 

As Adkins said this, he made a gesture as if he intended to pass 
me. 

“ I’ll give you the way to h — ,” said I, “ unless you do as I bid 
you ;” and I caught him by the collar to drag him into the house. 

He resisted this attempt by aiming a blow at me ; which I re- 
turned with such interest, that while I still kept my legs, the cap- 
tain of the “ Lenore” missed his ; and, staggering backward, he fell 
heavily on the door-step. 

I had now lost all command of myself ; and, after ringing the 
bell, to have the door re-opened, I seized him by the hair of the 
head — for the purpose of hauling him inside. 

My purpose would have been accomplished. I would have bro- 
ken down the door, dragged him into the house, confronted him with 
Mrs. Hyland, and made him swallow his false words, but for the 
arrival of a trio of policemen. 

I was not overcome until after a long struggle ; in which the ex- 
ertions of the three policemen, Adkins himself, and another man, 
who was passing at the time, were united against me. It ended in 
their putting me in irons. 

As I was led away from the house, 1 noticed that Mrs. Hyland 


64 


LOST lenork; 


and Lenore were both at the window — where, I had no doubt, they 
had been witnesses of the affray. 

I was at once taken to a police station, and locked up in one of 
its cells. 

Next morning I was brought before a magistrate. Adkins was 
there to prosecute. The three policemen were present as witness- 
es ; as also the Liverpool citizen, who had aided in putting me in 
irons. 

After evidence was heard against me, I was called upon for my 
defence. I had nothing to say to the charge. 

The magistrate emphatically declared that a case of a more un* 
provoked assault had never been brought before him ; and that he 
did not think the ends of justice would be met by the infliction of 
a fine. He, therefore, sentenced me to fourteen days’ imprison- 
ment. 

I thought none the less of myself for that ; and under other cir- 
cumstances, two weeks in a prison might not have been passed un 
pleasantly. But it was bitterness to reflect, that while I was pass- 
ing my time in the companionship of petty thieves, Edward Adkins 
was daily visiting Lenore. 

Fourteen days must I pass as a prisoner, while my vile enemy 
would be enjoying the society of Mrs. Hyland and her daughter — ■ 
no doubt doing all he could to blacken my character, and lower me 
still further in their estimation ! 

The reflection was anything but pleasant ; though I might have 
partly consoled myself by another : that I was much better off 
inside the gaol, than millions of my fellow countrymen outside of 
it. Had I committed some crime, that really deserved this confine- 
ment, then would I, indeed, have felt really wretched ; but con- 
science accused me of no wrong; and I was not without those 
tranquilizing emotions ever springing from a sense of rectitude and 
innocence. 

I was not afraid that Adkins would gain any great advantage 
over me in winning the affection of Lenore — even though aided by 
the influence of her mother. It was not that which troubled me 
during my sojourn within the walls of a prison. If Lenore should 
prove capable of choosing such a man for her husband, I need not 
regret her loss. My spirit was more harassed by the thought ; that 
wrong should thus have triumphed — that Adkins should be in the 
society of Lenore, when he should have been in my place in tht 
prison, and I in his. 


OR, THB ADVENTURES 07 A ROLUNO 8TGNB« tS5 

After I had passed eight days of my confinement, I was surprised 
>ne morning by the announcement that I was to receive visitors. 

Two persons had called, and inquired for Rowland Stone. They 
were outside — waiting to be admitted to my cell. 

Both proved to be old acquaintances. One was a man named 
Wilton, who had been the second mate of the ship “Lenore,” under 
Captain Hyland. The other was Mason, the steward of the same 
ship. 

As both these men had been very kind to me when I was in the 
ship, I was pleased to see them ; but much more so, when I learnt 
to whom I was indebted for their visit. Mason told me that he was 
still steward of “ Lenore,” and that Miss Hyland had come to bins 
on board : for the purpose of obtaining a true account of the cir 
cumstances that stood between me and Adkins. 

‘‘ I was glad to learn, Rowley, that you had turned up again,” 
said Mason ; “ but at the same time, sorry to hear of your present 
trouble. I at once resolved to try and get you out of at least a 
part of it, although I may lose my situation by doing so. I told 
Miss Hyland, plainly enough, that Adkins was a villain, and that i 
could prove it. I promised her that I would come and see you. 
Wilton here, is now the skipper of a tug-boat on the river, anc ]i 
brought him along — knowing that he can lend a hand to help us.'^ 

“ Nothing can please me more than to see Adkins lose the com 
mand of the ‘ Lenore,’” interposed Wilton, “for I know that he is 
not an honest man ; and that he has been all along robbing the 
widow. We must decide on some plan to convince Mrs. Hyland, 
that she is placing confidence in a scoundrel.” 

Wilton and Mason remained with me nearly an hour ; and it wa» 
decided that nothing should be done openly, until my term of im- 
prisonment should expire. We were then to ascertain when Adkins 
would be on a visit to Mrs. Hyland’s house, when we should all 
three go together, meet him there, and tell Mrs. Hyland the whole 
story of his falsehood and dishonesty. 

“ Should she not believe us, and still continue to trust him,” said 
Wilton, “then she deserves to be robbed ; that’s my way of think 
ing.” 

I thought the same, so far as robbing her of her worldly wealth : 
but it was bitter to believe that the rascal might also rob her of a 
jewel more priceless than all else — of Lenore. But I could not 
believe that the most insane folly on her part would deserve so ex- 
treme a punishment, as that of having Adkins for a son-in-law I 


LOST lekork; 


66 

Mason gave me his address ; so did Wilton ; and I promise tel 
call on them, as soon as I should be set at liberty. 

They left me happy and hopeful. 1 was happy, not because I 
was young, and in good health — not because 1 had found friends 
who would aid me in subduing an enemy ; but because the beautiful 
Lenore had interested herself in my misfortunes, and was trying to 
remove them. 

That was a theme for many long and pleasant reveries, which 
while they rendered me impatient to be free, at the same time 
enabled me to pass the remainder of my term of imprisonment, 
with but slight regard for the many petty annoyances and discom- 
forts of the situation. 

I accepted my liberty when it was at length given me ; and on 
the same day went to visit Mason and Wilton. 

What had been done already by Lenore, left me under the im- 
pression that she would still further aid me in establishing the 
truth. I felt confident, that she would not object to letting us 
know on what day and hour we might meet Adkins at her mother’s 
house ; and with this confidence, I wrote a note to her, containing 
the request that she would do so. Then, in pleasant expectation of 
soon having an opportunity of clearing my character, f awaited tbt 
dDiwer* 


OR, tHB ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


67 


CHAPTER Xra. 

A RECKONING UP. 

Lrnorb did not disappoint me. Two days after getting out of 
the prison, I received her reply — informing me that Adkins would 
be at her mother’s house the next day, and advising me to call with 
my friends, about half-past ten. I had made known to her the ob- 
ject of my desire to meet him. 

After receiving her note, I went immediately to Mason and Wil- 
ton ; and we appointed a place of rendezvous for the next morning. 

That evening, I was as uneasy as the commander-in-chief of an 
army on the eve of a great battle. I had an enemy to confront and 
conquer — a reputation already sullied to restore to its former 
brightness. 

I could not help some anxiety as to the result. 

In the morning, I met my friends at the appointed place ; and as 
the clock struck ten, we started for the residence of Mrs. Hyland. 

As we came within sight of the house, I perceived Lenore at the 
window. She recognised us, rose from her seat, and disappeared 
towards the back of the room. When I rang the bell, the door was 
opened by herself. 

Without hesitating, she conducted us all three into the parlour, 
where we found Adkins and Mrs. Hyland. 

The latter appeared to be no little astonished by our unexpected 
entrance : but as for Adkins himself, he looked more like a fright- 
ened maniac than a man. 

“What does this mean?” exclaimed Mrs. Hyland, in a voice 
that expressed more alarm than indignation. 


68 


LOST LENORE 


“ These gentlemen have called to see you on business, mother,’* 
said her daughter. There is nothing to fear from them. They 
are our friends.” 

Having said this, Lenore requested us to be seated ; and we com* 
plied. 

Adkins did not speak ; but I could read from the play of his fea- 
tures, that he knew the game was up, and that he had lost. 

“Mrs. Hyland,” said Wilton, after a short interval of silence, “ I 
have called here to do what I believe to be a duty, and which I 
ought to have done long ago. If I am doing any wrong, it is only 
through my ignorance of what’s right. I was your husband’s 
friend, and we sailed together, for nine years or thereabouts. I 
was on the ship ‘Lenore’ when Captain Hyland died, in New Or- 
leans ; and I have heard the stories that Mr. Adkins here has told 
about this young man. Those stories are false. When in New 
Orleans, at the time of your husband’s death, Adkins was most of 
the time drunk, and neglecting his duty. Rowley did not deser< 
from the ship ; neither did he neglect the captain, but was the onlj 
one of the ship’s company with him, when he died. Mr. Adkia 
never liked Rowley ; and the only reason I can think of for his no* 
doing so, is just because it is natural for a bad man to dislike a 
good one. When Mr. Adkins obtained the command of the shi^ 
he would not let Rowley come aboard again — much less return if 
her to Liverpool. I made one voyage with Adkins as first mat^ 
after Captain Hyland’s death, and learnt, while making it, that\ 
could not continue with him any longer — unless I should becom 
nearly as bad as himself. For that reason I left the ship. 

“ Mrs Hyland !” continued Wilton, fixing his eye upon Adkinai 
and speaking with determined emphasis, “ I have no hesitation ii 
pronouncing Mr. Adkins to be a wicked, deceitful man ; who ha 
been robbing you under the cloak of friendship ; and still continued 
to rob you.” 

“ These men have formed a conspiracy to ruin me !” cried Ad 
kins, springing to his feet. “ I suppose they will succeed in doing 
it. Three men and one woman are more than I can contenc 
against !” 

Mrs. Hyland paid no attention to this remark ; but, turning t» 
Mason, said : “ I believe that you are Mr. Mason, the steward of 
the ‘ Lenore.’ What have you to say ?” 

“I have to state that all Mr. Wilton has told you, is true,” saic 
Mason. “ Rowley, to my knpwledge, has never done anything U. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


69 


forfeit your friendship. 1 have lon^ known that Captain Adkins 
was a scoundrel ; and my desire to expose him — overcome by the 
fact that I have a large family to support, and was afraid of losing 
my situation — has caused me to pass many a sleepless hour. I had 
made up my mind not to go another voyage along with him — be- 
fore learning that my testimony was wanted in aid of Rowley 
here. On hearing that he had robbed the young man — not only of 
his old friends, but of his liberty — I no longer hesitated about ex- 
posing him. He is a dishonest villian ; and I can prove it by hav- 
ing the ship’s accounts overhauled.” 

“Go on! go on!” cried Adkins. “You have it all your own 
way now. Of course, my word is nothing.” 

“ He is telling the truth for once in his life,” said Mason to Mrs, 
Hyland. “For his word is just worth nothing, to any one who 
knows him.” 

“ Now, Rowland,” said Mrs. Hyland, “what have you to say?” 

“ Very little,” I answered. “I did not wish you to think ill of 
me. There is nothing that can wound the feelings more than in» 
gratitude ; and the kindness with which you once treated me, was 
the reason why I have been so desirous of proving to you that I 
have not been ungrateful. You have now evidence that will enable 
you to judge between Adkins and myself ; and after this interview 
I will trouble you no more ; for I do not desire to insist upon a re- 
newal of the friendship you have suspected. I only wished you to 
now that I had given you no cause for discontinuing it.” 

“ Now, gentlemen !” said Adkins, “ having been amused by all 
each of you has to say, I suppose I may be allowed to take my 
leave of you ; and,” said he, turning to Mrs. Hyland, “ I’ll see you 
again, madam, when you have not quite so much interesting com- 
pany to engage your attention.” 

He arose, and was moving towards the door. 

“ Stop !” shouted Mason, stepping before him. “Mrs. Hyland,” 
continued the steward, “ I know enough about this man, and his 
management of your business, to justify you in giving him in 
charge, to a policeman. Shall I call one ?” 

For a minute Mrs. Hyland was silent. 

I looked at Adkins, arid saw that my triumph over him was com- 
plete. His own appearance condemned him ; and any one to 
have seen him at that moment — humiliated, cowed, and guilty — 
would ever after have dreaded doing wrong ; through very fear of 
looking as he did. 


70 


LOST lenore; 


In truth, he presented a melancholy spectac/e ; for he had not 
the courage to assume even a show of manliness. 

To complete my triumph, and his discomposure, Lenore, who 
had been all the while listening with eager interest, and apparent 
pleasure to what had been said, cried out : “ Let him go, mother, 
if he will promise never to come near us again !” 

“ Yes, let him go repeated Mrs. Hyland. “ I must think be- 
fore I can act.” 

Mason opened the door, and Adkins sneaked out in a fashion 
that was painful, even for me — his enemy — to behold. After his 
departure, each waited for the other to speak. 

The silence was broken by Mrs. Hyland, who said : 

“ or you, Mr. Wilton, and you, Mr. Mason, I have often heard 
my late husband speak in the highest terms ; and I know of no rea 
son, why I should not believe what you have told me.” 

“ With you, Rowland,” she continued, turning her eyes upon 
me, with something of the old friendly look, “with you, I have 
been acquainted many years ; and the principal reason I had for 
doubting your integrity and truthfulness, was, because, I thought 
that, had you possess^ the regard for us, you should have had, 
you would certainly have come back after the death of my hus- 
band. 

“ You did not ; and the circumstance, as you will admit, was 
strong against you. I have now much reason to believe that I 
have been deceived in Adkins ; and I do not know whom to trust. 
I must suppose that all of you have come here without any ill 
feeling towards me : for I know not why you should wish to do me 
an injury. 

“ I have a respect for those in whom Mr. Hyland has placed 
confidence. I have heard him speak well of all of you ; and I do 
not remember now of anything he ever said that should give me a 
favourable opinion of Adkins. Indeed, J never heard Mr. Hyland 
speak much concerning him. It is my duty to think of the past 
as well as the present, before I can say anything more.” 

Wilton and Mason both assured Mrs. Hyland that they had on- 
ly acted under the influence of a sense of duty — inspired by the 
respect they had for the memory of her husband. 

W e left the house ; but not till Mrs. Hyland had shaken hands 
with me, and at the same time, extended to me an invitation to 
call the next day ; and not till Mrs. Hyland’s daughter had given 
me reason to believe that my visit would be welcome. 


TOfi APVSNTUHjCd OF A nowm 


71 


CHAPTER XIV. 

ONCE MORS FRIENDS. 

I DID call the next day, and had no particular reason to be dissatis 
bed with my reception. 

Mrs. Hyland did not meet me in the same motherly manner, 
she once used to exhibit ; but I did not expect it ; and I could not 
feel displeased at being admitted on any terms, into the presence 
of a being so beautiful as Lenore. 

Neither did she receive me in the same manner she used to dc 
in the past ; but neither was I annoyed by that circumstance. It 
was necessary that the child-like innocence and familiarity, once ex- 
isting between us, should cease ; and it was no chagrin to me tc 
perceive that it had done so. 

I confessed to Mrs. Hyland that I had acted wrong in not return- 
ing to Liverpool after her husband’s death ; but I also explained to 
her how, on being discharged from the ship, I had felt myself sore- 
ly aggrieved : and, having no longer a home, I had to wander 
about as circumstances dictated. I added, of course, that, could I 
have had the least suspicion that my absence would have been con- 
strued into any evidence of crime or ingratitude, I would have re- 
turned long before to refute the calumny. 

Lenore did not try to conceal her pleasure, at seeing her mother 
and myself conversing once more as friends. 

“ You must not leave us again, Rowland,” she said, “ for we have 
not many friends, and can ill afford to lose one. See how near we 
have been to losing you — all through your being absent.” 

“Yes, Rowland,” said Mrs. Hyland. “My house was once 
your home ; and you are welcome to make it so again. I shall on- 
ly be fulfilling the wishes of my husband, by renewing the intimate 
friendship that once existed between us.” 


72 


LOST LENORE ; 


Her invitation to make her house once more my home, I relucfr 
antly declined. Lenore seemed no longer my sister; and with 
some sorrow the conviction forced itself on my mind — that my 
fate was to love — to love, yet wander far from the one I loved. 

Lenore was now a young lady, I thought myself a man. As 
children we could no longer live together — no longer dwell under 
the same roof. Lenore was too beautiful : and 1 was too much af- 
flicted with poverty. Any further acquaintance between us might 
not contribute to my future happiness but the contrary. 

I left the house with mingled feelings of pleasure and despair ; 
pleased to find myself once more restored to the good opinion of 
Mrs. Hyland — despairing of being able to resist the fascinations of 
her daughter’s beauty. 

Every time 1 gazed upon her fair face, could only add to my mis- 
ery. I was young, and as I had been told, good-looking. Lenore 
and I had been old friends and playmates. It was possible for me 
to win her love ; but would it be honourable ? 

Would it be a proper return for the kindness of Captain Hyland 
and his widow, for me, a penniless “ rolling-stone,” to try to win 
the affections of their only child, and subject her to the misery of 
my own unfortunate lot ? No ! I could love Lenore, but 1 could 
not act in such an unworthy manner. 

Then followed the reflection, that Mrs. Hyland had some proper- 
ty. Her house would be mine. She needed a son-in-law to look 
after the ship ; and I was a seaman. 

These thoughts only stirred within me a feeling of pride, that 
would not allow me to receive any advantage of fortune from one 
I could choose for a wife. I knew that with all the exertions a 
man may make — and, however, correct his habits may be— he can- 
not live happily with a wife who brings into the firm of husband 
and wife more money than himself. 

Another unpleasant consideration came before me. Why should 
I be seeking for reasons against marrying Lenore, when, perhaps, 
she might not consent to marry me ? Because we were old friends, 
was no reason why she should ever think of me as a husband. By 
trying to make her love me, I might, as she had said of Mr. Adkins, 
cause her only to hate me. 

The day after my visit to Mrs. Hyland and Lenore, I went to 
see Mason, the steward ; in order that I might thank him for the 
good word he had spoken for me — as well as for much kindness he 
had shown towards me, when we were shipmates in the ‘ Lenore.* 


0», THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 


73 


He received me in a cordial manner, that caused me to think 
better of mankind, than I had lately done. In a long conversation 
I held with him, he told me of many acts of dishonesty, in the 
committal of which he had detected Adkins; who, he said, had 
been robbing Mrs. Hyland in every way he could. 

“ Captain Hyland took much trouble in giving you some educa- 
tion,” said he ; “ why don’t you marry the daughter, and take com- 
mand of the ship*?” 

“ I arn a poor penniless adventurer,” I replied ; ‘‘ and dare not 
aspire to so much happiness as would be mine, were I to become 
the husband, as well as captain, of ‘ Lenore,’ I am neither so vain 
nor ambitious.” 

“ That’s a fact,” said Mason. “ You have not enough of either. 
No man did anything for himself, or any one else, without thinking 
something of himself, and making such a trial as you decline to 
undertake. He is a lucky man who wins without trying.” 

There was truth in what the steward said ; but the Hylands had 
been my friends, and were so again ; and I could not bring myself 
to abuse the confidence they had placed in me. I could not speak 
of love to Lenore, and so I told the steward. 

In this interview with Mason, I learnt from him that Adkins had 
disappeared, and could no more be found. 

“ His flight,” said Mason, “ will be positive proof to Mrs. 
Hyland that he was unworthy of the confidence she had placed in 
him. She cannot be too thankful, that your return has been the 
means of her discovering his true character. I would have exposed 
him long ago, but I did not think that I could succeed ; and that I 
would be doing myself an injury — in short, ruining my poor 
family, without the consolation of knowing that 1 had also ruined a 
scoundrel. Thank the Lord for all his mercies ! The villain has 
been uncloaked at last.” 

With this pious thanksgiving ended the interview between the 
honest steward and myself. 


74 


LOiT L£>^QIIC; 


CHAPTER XV. 

LOVE AND POVERTY. 

From that time I called every day to see Lenore and her mother j 
and each time came away more hopelessly infatuated. 

My money was gradually growing easier to count — until I found 
that I had but a few shillings left, and necessity must soon force me 
to seek employment. Of course I contemplated going to sea, and 
making my living on board some ship ; but 1 found it impossible to 
come to a determination. 

How was I to leave Liverpool, where I could gaze each day on 
the beauty that adorned Lenore ? 

I could not take my departure until circumstances should compel 
me. In order to protract my stay as long as possible, I lived on 
but one meal per diem : and as I had also to keep a little money 
for my lodgings, I made that meal upon a penny roll. 

Mrs. Hyland had determined on giving up the ship — a resolution 
no doubt due to the mismanagement, or rather dishonesty, of him 
who had lately commanded her. I assisted her in finding a puchas- 
er ; and she was very fortunate in disposing of the vessel at a good 
price. 

She had plenty of money, and was willing to aid me. But 
pride prevented me from accepting of anything but her friendship ; 
and ofttimes did I appear in the presence of Lenore while suffering 
the pangs of hunger ! Was that love ? 

I thought it was ; and on this fancy, and a single roll of bread, I 
lived from day to day. Never had 1 been so happy, and, at the 
same time, so wretched. I could look upon her I loved, and con- 
verse with her for hours at a time. That was happiness. But I 
loved Lenore, and must leave her. That was misery. 

Lenore seemed to meet me with so much cheerfulness, that my 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


75 


resolution lo leave her — without being absolutely compelled to it — 
was often nearly broken ; and I believe there are but few who 
would have resisted the temptation to stay. But pride, a sense of 
justice, and a love of independence, prompted me to go forth again 
upon the world, and seek fortune afresh. Perhaps, too, the fact 
that I was naturally a “ rolling stone,” might have had much to do 
in my determination, at length arrived at, of bidding adieu to 
Lenore. There was yet another motive urging my departure — one 
w'hich had been too long allowed to lie dormant within my bosom : 
my relatives were lost, and I knew not where to find them. This 
thought often arose, causing me much regret. I had as yet no rea> 
son to believe that they had left Liverpool ; but if such should 
prove to be the case, the sooner I started in search of them, the 
sooner would my conscience be satisfied. 

I waited till my last shilling was spent ; and then sold a signet 
ring — which I had taken from the finger of a dead Mexican, on the 
field of battle — obtaining thirty shillings for it. With this trifling 
sum I had a great deal to accomplish. It constituted the sole fund 
with which my relatives were to be sought and found. It was the 
capital I had to invest, in the business of making a fortune worthy 
of Lenore ! 

I advertised for my mother in some of the Liverpool papers ; but 
the only result was the loss of the greater part of my cash. She 
had probably gone after Mr. Leary to Australia. Having followed 
him from Dublin to Liverpool, was proof that she was foolish 
enough to follow him to the Antipodes ; and the money she had re- 
ceived for the lease of her house, would enable her to go there. 

Had I been certain that she had sailed to Australia, I should have 
gone after her ; but I could scarce believe that she had been guilty 
of an act of folly : which even the absence of common sense would 
neither excuse nor explain. Because she had once acted foolishly, 
was not positive proof that she still continued the victim of her un- 
fortunate infatuation. 

The mere conjecture that my mother had emigrated to Australia, 
would not have been a sufficient reason for my going so far in search 
of her — so far away from Lenore. Still it was certain I must go 
somewhere. I had a fortune to make ; and, in my belief, Liverpool 
was the last place where an honest man would have stood any chance 
in making it. 

My clothing had become threadbare, and my hat and boots were 
worn to such a dilapidated condition, that I became every day more 


LOST LENORB ; 


ashamed to pay my visits to Lenore. I at length resolved upon di» 
continuing them. 

I arose one morning, with the determination of making a move 
of some kind during the day : for the life that I had been leading 
for the past six weeks could be endured no longer. 

[ made an excursion to the docks, where I soon succeeded in find- 
ing a berth ; and shipped for the “ run” in a large vessel — a 
‘Miner” — -bound to New York. This business being settled, I pro- 
ceeded to the house of Mrs. Hyland — to bid her and her daughter 
“ good-bye.” 

They showed every evidence of regret at my departure ; and yet 
they did not urge me very strenuously to remain : for they knew 
something of my disposition. 

1 had a long conversation with Lenore alone. 

“ Miss Hyland,” said I, “ I am going in search of a rbrtune — a for- 
tune that must be obtained by hard toil ; but that toil shall be 
sweetened by hope — the hope of seeing you again. We are both 
young ; and the knowledge of that gives me encouragement to hope. 
I shall not now speak to you of love ; but I shall do so on my re- 
turn. I believe that we are friends ; but I wish to make myself 
worthy of something more than your friendship.” 

I fancied that Lenore understood me. I cannot describe the ex- 
quisite pleasure that thrilled me, as I noted the expression of her 
features while she stood listening. It did not forbid me to hope. 

“ 1 will not try to detain you, Rowland,” she answered, “ but if 
you are unsuccessful abroad, do not remain long away. Return to 
us, and you will find those who can sympathize with your disap- 
pointments. I shall pray that no harm may befall you ; and that 
we may soon meet again.” 

I could perceive her bosom trembling with some strong emotion, 
as she uttered these parting words. 

As 1 took her hand to bid the final “ good bye,” we were both 
unable to speak ; and we parted in silence. 

The memory of that parting cheered me through many a dark and 
stormy hour of my after life. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


77 


CHAPTER XVI. 

ATLANTIC LINERS. 

PERHAPS -Wfte most worthless characters, who follow the sea as a 
professioLr, are to be found among the crews of Atlantic liners — es- 
pecially those trafficking between Liverpool and New York. 

These men seldom make voyages to any other ports, than the two 
above mentioned ; and their custom is to “ ship for the run” in one 
vessel, and return in another. They do not affect long voyages ; 
and prefer that between Liverpool and New York to any other. 

There are several reasons fer this preference on their part. 

One is the facility with which — on an Atlantic liner — they can 
rob each other, and steal from the passengers. 

Another is, that being, even for seaman, a profligate, dissipated 
set, these short voyages give them more frequent opportunities oi? 
being in port — ^where they can indulge in the vices and habits so 
congenial to their vulgar tastes. 

A third reason is, the great number of emigrant passengers car- 
ried between those ports, along with the loose observance of the 
Passenger Act — the rules of which are less strictly enforced upon 
Atlantic liners, than aboard ships going on longer voyages. 

It may be inferred from this, that the ruffians comprising the 
crews of the Atlantic liners, have a better opportunity of plundei- 
ing the passengers than in any other ships. 

When embarking on one of these vessels to recommence my du- 
ties as a seaman, I was not encumbered with much luggage ; and 1 
was not very long in her forecastle, before discovering that this was 
rather an advantage than a misfortune ! 

I had spent so much of my money, that I should have been abso- 
lutely unable to buy an outfit for any other “ trip” than that b^' 
tween Liverpool and New York. 


78 


LOST LEKORS; 


The less a sailor takes aboard with him on such a voyage, the 
less will he loose before it is terminated. 

One of the crew of the ship in which I sailed, was a young sea 
man, who never made the voyage from Liverpool to New York 
and therefore lacked experience of the evil doings incidental to such 
a trip. He had been foolish enough to bring on board a large kit” 
of good clothing. The first night out of port, when this young man 
was keeping his watch on deck, one of his comrades below took notice 
of his chest. 

“ It’s locked,” said the man, stretching out his hand to try the 
lid. 

“ Blast him ?” cried another, “ I suppose he thinks we are all 
thieves here !” 

“ Sarve him right if he were to lose everything that’s in it,” 
significantly remarked a third. 

“ So say I,” chimed in a fourth speaker, drawing nearer to the 
kit, in order to be at hand in case of a scramble — which the moment 
after was commenced. 

The chest was turned over ; all hands taking share in the act ; and 
without further ado, its bottom was knocked in. Most of the sailor’s 
effects were pulled out, and scattered about — each of the ruffians 
appropriating to himself seme article which he fancied. 

Amongst other things, was a new pair of heavy horseskin boots, 
which were obtained by a fellow, who chanced to stand in need of 
them ; and who pulled them on upon the spot. 

The next day, the young sailor having missed his property, of 
course created a disturbance about it. For this, he was only 
laughed at by the rest of the crew. 

He complained to the officers. 

Had your clothes stole, have you 1” carelessly inquired the first 
mate. “ Well, that’s what you might have expected. Some of 
the boys are queer fellows, I dare say. You should have taken 
better care of your togs — if you cared anything about them.” 

The next day, the young sailor saw one of the men with the stolen 
boots upon his feet ; and at once accused the wearer of the theft. 
But the only satisfaction he obtained, was that of getting kicked 
with his own boots ! 

We had on board between three and four hundred passengers — 
most of them Irish and German emigrants. 

Several deaths occured amongst these poor people. Whenever- 
one of them died, the fact would be reported to the officers ; and 


OB, THB ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


79 


ihen the first mate would order the sail-maker to enclose the body 
m a sack-i^for the purpose of its being thrown overboard. This 
command to the sail-maker was generally given as follows : 

Sails I there’s a dead 'un below. Go down and sack ’im.’” 

As these words were heard by the passengers — alas ! too often 
I'epeated — the sail -maker was known during the remainder of the 
voyage by the name oft Mr. Sackem , and this unfortunate func- 
tionary became an^ object of mysterious dread to many of the pas- 
sengers — especially the women and children. 

Woman generally have a great horror of seeing the •dead body 
of any of their relatives thrown into the sea ; and Mr. Sackem in- 
curred the ill will of many of the female emigrants, who were sim- 
pie enough to think that he was someway or other to blame 
for the bodies being disposed of in this offhand, and apparently 
unfeeling fashion! 

A young child — one of a large family of Irish people — had died 
one night ; and the next morning the sail-maker went into the steer- 
age where the body lay — to prepare it for interment in the usual 
way. 

The first attempt made by Mr. Sackem, towards the performance 
of his duty, brought upon him an assault from the relatives of the 
deceased child, backed by several others who had been similarly 
bereaved ! 

Poor Sails was fortunate in getting back upon deck with his life ; 
and he came up from the hatchway below with his clothing torn to 
rags ! He had lost the greater part of a thick head of hair; while 
bis countenance looked like a map of North America, with the lakes 
and rivers indicated in red ink. 

ft was not until the captain had gone down — and given the pas- 
sengers a fine specimen of the language and manners of the skipper 
of an Atlantic liner in a rage — that the body was allowed to be 
brought up, and consigned to its last resting place in the sea. 

*#♦****♦ 

I landed in New York, with the determination of trying to do 
something on shore ; for I was by this time convinced, that a fortune 
was not to be made by following the occupation 3>f a common 
sailor, 

1 did not remain long in New York. Too many emigrants from 
Europe were constantly arriving there ; and continuing that same 
struggle for existence, which had forced them into exile. 


LOST LENOES; 


( had every reason to believe, that a young man like myself was 
irOG likely to command nis full value, where there was so many 
compettitors ; and I determined to go on to visit the West. 

It is true, a life on the sea might have been preferable to the 
hardships, that were likely to be encountered beyond the borders 
of civilization ; but Lenore was not to be won by my remaining a 
2ommon sailor; nor would such a profession be likely to afford me 
either time or opportunity for prosecuting the search after my lost 
relations. I knew not whether i was acting prudently or not ; but I 
directed my course westward ; and did not bring to, until I had 
reached St. Louis, in the State of Missouri. There I stopped for a 
time to look about me. 

On acquaintance with it I did not discover much in this western 
city to admire. A person of sanguine hopes, and anxious to ac* 
complish great things in a very little time, is, perhaps, not in a fit 
frame of mind to form correct conclusions ; and this may account 
for my being discontented with St. Louis. 

I could not obtain a situation in a city where there was but little 
to be done, and no great wages for doing it. I was told that I might 
find employment in the country — at splitting rails, cutting wood, 
and other such laborious work ; but in truth, I was not in the vein 
to submit myself to this kind of toil. I was disappointed at find- 
ing, that in the great West I should have much more work to do 
tnaii I had previously imagined. 

ft chanced that at this time there was a grand commotion in St. 
Louis. Gold had been discovered in California — lying in great 
quantities in “ placers,” or gold washings ; and hundreds were de- 
parting — or preparing to depart — for the land where fortunes were 
to be made in a single day. 

This was precisely the sort of place I was looking for ; but to 
reach it required a sum of money, which I had not got. f had only 
the poor satisfaction of knowing that there were many others m a 
similar situation — thousands of them, who wished to go to Califor. 
nia, but were prevented by the same unfortunate circumstances that 
i»bstructed me. 

Many were going overland — across the prairies and mountains ; 
but even this manner of reaching the golden land required more 
cash than I could command. A horse, and an outfit, were necessary, 
as well as provisions for the journey, which had to be taken along, 
or purchased by the way. 

I regretted that I had not shipped in New York, and worked my 


TH3 ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE, & 

passage to California round the Horn. It was too late now. To 
get back to any sea-port on the Atlantic, would have required fift^en 
or twenty dollars ; and I had only five left, of all that 1 had earned 
upon the liner. I spent these five dollars, before I had succeeded 
in discovering any plan by which 1 might reach California. I felt 
convinced that my only chance of finding my relatives, and making 
myself worthy of ‘Lenore, lay in my getting across, to the Pacific 
side of America. 

While thus cogitating, I was further tantalized by reading in a 
newspaper some later accounts from the diggins. These imparted 
the information that each of the diggers was making a fortune in a 
week, and spending it in a day. One week in California, was worth 
ten years in any other part of the world. Any one could get an 
ounce of gold per diem—merely for helping the giver to spend the 
money he had made ! 

Should 1 — the Rolling Stone — stay where I could find employ* 
ment at nothing better than splitting rails, while Earth contained a 
country like California? 

There was but one answer to the interrogation : No. 

I TMolved to reach this land cf gold, or perish in the attempt. 


89 


UOgT LXHORX? 


CHAPTER XVIL 

ON HORSEBACK ONCE MORE. 

Thr same newspaper that had imparted the pleasing intelligeHce, 
supplied me with information of another kind — which also produced 
a cheering effect upon my spirits. 

The emigrants proceeding overland to California, required pro- 
tection from the Indians — many hostile tribes of whom lived along 
the route. Military stations, or “ forts” as they were called, had to 
be established at different points upon the great prairie wilderness ; 
and, just then, the United States Government was enlisting men to 
be forwarded to these stations. 

M »st of tk* me;i enrolled for this service, were for its cavalry 
arm ; and after my last quarter of a dollar had been spent, I became 
one of their number. My former experience in a dragoon saddle — ■ 
of which 1 could give the proofs — made it no very difficult matter 
fo . ' ^me to get mounted once^more. 

Enlisting in the army, was rather a strange proceeding, for a man 
who was anxious to make a fortune in the shortest possible time ; 
but I saw that something must be done, to enable me to live ; and I 
could neither hold a plough, nor wield an axe. 

At first, 1 was not altogether satisfied with what I had done ; for 
1 knew that my mother was not to be found in the wilds of America; 
and that, after remaining five years in the ranks of the American 
army, 1 would be as far as ever from Lenore. 

There was one thought, however, that did much to reconcile me 
to my new situation ; and that was, that our line of march would 
be towards California ! 

Three weeks after joining the cavalry corps, we started for a sta- 
tion lying beyond Fort Leavenworth. 

Oar maroh was not an uninteresting one ; for most of my c©i» 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 83 

radea were youug men of a cheerful disposition: and round our 
camp-fires at night, the statesman, philosopher, or divine, who could 
not have found either amusement or instruction, would have been a 
wonderful man. 

Our company was composed of men of several nations. All, oi^- 
nearly all were intelligent; and all unfortunate : as, of course, every 
man must be, who enters the ranks as a common soldier. 

Man is the creature of circumstances, over which he has no con 
trol. The circumstances that had brought together the regiment to 
which I belonged, would probably make a volume much more in- 
structive and interesting than any “ lady novel and this, judging 
from the taste displayed by the majority of the present day, is say- 
ing more than could be easily proved. 

Many European officers would have thought there was but slight 
discipline in the corps to which I was attached ; but in this opinion, 
they would be greatly in error. 

The efficiency of our discipline consisted in the absence of that 
petty order, which some Frence and English martinets would have 
striven to establish ; and which would have been ill-suited, for a 
march over the sterile plains, and through the dense forests encoun- 
tered in the line of our route. This absence of strict discipline did 
not prevent us from doing a good day’s march ; and yet enabled us 
to have plenty of game to cook over our camp-fires by night. 

W e had no duty to trouble ourselves with, but what the common 
sense of each taught him to be necessary to our safety and welfare ; 
and we were more like a hunting party seeking amusement, than 
like soldiers on a toilsome march. 

For all this we were proceeding towards our destination, with as 
much speed as could reasonably be required. 

We had one man in the company, known by the name of “Run- 
away Dick” — a name given to him after he had one evening, by the 
camp-fire, entertained us with a narration of some of the experiences 
of his life. 

He had run away from home, and gone to sea. He had run 
away from every ship in which he had sailed. He had started in 
business several times, and had run away each time in debt. He 
had married two wives, and had run away from both ; and, before 
joining our corps, he had run away from the landlord of a tavern — 
leaving Boniface an empty trunk as payment for a large bill. 

“ Runaway Dick” was one of the best marksmen with a rifle we 
bad in the company ; and it was the knowledge of this, that on one 
•ocasion caused me perhaps the greatest fright I ever experienced. 


84 


LOST LENORB ; 


I had risen at an early hour one morning which, being very cold, 
I had lighted a fire. 1 was squatted, and shivering over the half 
kindled faggots, with a buffalo robe wrapped around my shoulders, 
when I saw “ Runaway Dick” steal from his sleeping place under a 
waggon. On seeing me, he turned suddenly round, and laid hold 
of his rifle. 

I had just time to throw off the hairy covering, and spring to my 
feet, as the rifle was brought to his shoulder. Three seconds more, 
and I should have had a bullet through my body ! 

“ Darn it ! I thought you was a bar,” said Dick coolly, putting 
down his rifle ; as I fancied, with a show of some chagrin at having 
been undeceived, and “ choused” out of his shot. 

I afterwards heard that he was only trying to frighten me. If so, 
the experiment proved entirely successful. 

After reaching the post we were to occupy, I was not so well 
satisfied with my situation, as when on the march. 

The discipline became more strict, and we had a good deal of 
fatigue-work to do — in building huts, stables and fortifications. 

Besides this unsoldierly duty by day, we had at night to take our 
turn as sentinels around the station. 

Emigrants on the way to California passed us daily. How I 
envied them their freedom of action, and the bright hopes that were 
luring them on ! 

******* 

One morning, “ Runaway Dick” was not to be found. He had 
run away once more. It was not difficult to define whither — to 
California. 

In this, his latest flight, he appeared to give some proof that he 
had still a little honesty left ; for he did not take along with him 
either his horse, or his rifle. 

I overheard some of the officers speaking of him after he was 
gone ; one of them pronouced him “ a d — d fool” for not taking the 
horse — so necessary to him upon the long journey he would have to 
perform, before reaching his destination. 

On hearing this remark, I registered a resolve, that when my 
turn came to desert, they should not have occasion to apply the epi- 
thet to me 5 at all events, not for the same reason that Runaway 
Dick had deserved it. 

Whether Dick’s example had any influence on me, I do not now 
remember. I only know that I soon after determined to desert^ 
and take my horse with me. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 


85 


I had served the Government of the United States once before ; 
and did not think myself any too well rewarded for my services. 
I might probably have believed that ‘‘ Uncle Sam” was indebted to 
me ; and that by dismissing myself from his employ, and taking 
with me some of his property, it would be only squaring accounts 
with him ; but I did not then take the trouble to trifle with my con- 
science — as I do not now — to justify my conduct by any such ex- 
cuse. To carry off the horse would be stealing ; but I required the 
animal for the journey ; and I did not like to leave my officers un- 
der the impression that I was a “ d — d fool.” 

‘‘Every one who robs a government is not called a thief,” 
thought I ; “ and why should I win that appellation when only try- 
ing to win Lenore ?” 

I could not aflford to squander the best part of my life in a wil- 
derness — standing sentry all the night, and working on fortifications 
all day long. 

It was absurd for any one to have enlisted an intelligent-looking 
young fellow like myself, for any such occupation. Was I not ex- 
pected to take french leave on the first favorable opportunity? 
And would I not be thought a “ fool” for not doing so ? 

These considerations did not influence me much, I admit ; for the 
true cause of my desertion, w^as the knowledge that neither my I’el- 
atives nor Lenore would ever be encountered in the middle of the 
great American prairie, and that to find either I must “ move on.” 

One night I was dispatched on patrol duty, to a place some two 
nailes distant from the fort. The sky was dark at the time ; but I 
knew the moon would be shining brightly in an hour. 

A better opportunity would perhaps never occur again ; and I 
resolved to take advantage of it and desert. ^ 

By going through the wilderness alone, I knew that I should have 
many dangers and hardships to encounter ; but the curiosity, of 
learning how these were to be overcome, only added to my desire 
for entering upon them. 

My patrol duty led me along the trail of the emigrants proceed- 
ing westward ; and even in the darkness, I was able to follow it 
without difficulty, riding most of the way at a trot. When the 
moon rose, I increased my pace to a gallop, and scarce halted until 
daybreak; when, perceiving a small stream that ran through the 
bottom of a narrow valley, I rode toward it. There dismounting, 

1 gave my horse, to the grass— whieK was growing so luxuriantly as 
to reach up to his kneeu 


86 


LOST lknoee; 


The horse was more fortunate than I : for the long night’s ride 
had given me an appetite, which I had no means of satisfying. I 
was hungry and happy — happy, because I was free ; and hungry 
for the same reason ! A paradox, though a truth. 

There were birds warbling among the trees by the side of the 
stream. I could have shot some of them with my rifle, or revolver, 
and cooked them over a fire — for 1 had the means of making one. — 

But I was not hungry enough to risk the report of a shot being * . 
heard ; and after tethering my horse, to make secure against his 
deserting me, I lay down upon the long grass and fell fast asleep. - ' 
I dreamt no end of dreams ; though they might all have been re- \ 

duced to one ; and that was : that the world was my inheritance, J 

and I was on my way to take possession of it. . 1 

When I awoke, the sun was in the centre of the sky. My horse I 
had satisfied his hunger ; and, following the example of his master, ' 1 
had laid down to sleep. 

1 did not hesitate to disturb his repose ; and, having saddled and tj 
remounted him, I once more took to the emigrant trai^ conti» | 
ued towards fortune and Lenore ! 1 


W, TH£ ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


87 


^ CHAPTER XVra. 

OLD JOHNSON. 

I TRAVELLED aloHg the trail all that afternoon and evening ; until, 
just as twilight was darkening into night, I came in sight of some 
camp-fires. On seeing them, I paused to consider what was best ta 
be done. 

To halt at the camp— if, as I supposed, it was a party of emi- 
grants — might lead to my being taken, in case of being pursued 
from the fort ; for my dress, the U. S. brand on the horse, and the 
military saddle, all proved them the property of “ Uncle Sam.” 

This determined me to avoid showing myself — until I should 
have put a greater distance between myself and the fort. 

I dismounted on the spot where I had halted, tethered my horse 
and tried to take some rest. I soon found that 1 could not sleep , 
hunger would not admit of it. 

Within sight of me were the camp-fires, surrounded by people, 
who would probably have relieved my wants : and yet 1 feared to 
go near them. 

Conscience, or common sense, told me, that emigrants in a wil* 
derness might not look very favourably upon one, employed to pro- 
tect them, deserting from his duty, and taking property along with 
him — of which every citizen of the United States believes himself to 
be the owner of a share. They might not actually repel me. In 
all probability they would give me something to eat ; but they 
might also give information concerning me — should I be pursued — 
that would enable my pursuers to make a prisoner of me. 

Before day-break I awoke, having enjoyed a brief slumber; and, 
silently mounting my horse, I rode beyond the emigrant’s camp — 
deviating widely from the trail to get around them. 

I soon recovered the track ; and pursued it as fast as my steed 
was willing to carry me. When, looking out for a place where wa- 


88 


LOST LENORS; 


ter could be obtained — with the intention of stopping awhile and 
killing some bird or animal for food — I came in sight of another 
party of emigrants, who were just taking their departure from t ie 
spot where they had encamped for the night. 

I had put one train of these travellers between me and the fort ; 
and now fancied myself tolerably safe from pur&uit. Riding boldly 
up to the waggons, I told the first man I encountered, and in very 
plain terms that I must have something to eat. 

“ Now, I like that way of talking,” said he. ** Had you asked 
for something in the humble manner many would have done, perhaps, 
you would not have got it. People don’t like to carry victuals 
five hundred miles, to give away for nothing ; but, when you say 
you must have something to eat, then, of course, 1 can do nothing 
but give it to you, Sally he continued ; calling out to a young 
woman w'bo was sitting by one of the waggons, “ get this stranger 
something to eat.” 

Looking around me, I saw a number of people — men, women, 
and children of every age. There appeared to be three families 
forming the ** caravan,” no doubt, emigrating together, for the pur- 
pose of mutual protection and assistance. There were five or six 
young men — who appeared to be the sons of the elder ones — and a 
like number of young women, who were evidently the daughters 
pf three others of middle age ; while a large flock of miscellaneous 
children, a small flock sheep, a smaller number of cattle, seveial 
horses, and half-a-dozen half-famished dogs completed the livestotk 
of the train. 

“ I guess you’re a deserter,” said the man, to whom I had fij st 
addressed myself, after he had finished his survey of myself a.*4d 
horse. 

** No !” I answered. “ I am on my route to Fort Wool. I 
have lost my way, and gone without eating for two days.” 

“Now, I like that way of talking,” responded the emigrant, who 
appeared to be the head of the party. “ When a man tells me a 
story, I like it to be a good one, and well told — whether I believe 
it, or not.” 

“ What reason have you to disbelieve me,” I asked, pretending 
to be ofiended at having my word doubted. 

“ Because, I think, from your looks, that you are not a d d 

fool,” answered the man, “ and no other but a fool would think of 
staying at a military fort, in this part of the world, any longer than 
be had a chance to get away from it.” 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OE A ROLLING STONE. 


89 


1 immediately formed the opinion, that the person speaking to 
me, was the most sensible man I had ever met — myself notexcept- 
ed : for it was not necessary for him to have seen Lenore, to know 
that I had done well in deserting. 

After my hunger had been appeased, I moved on with the emi- 
giant train ; which I found to consist of three Missouri farmers and 
their families, on their way to the “ Land of Promise.” The man 
with whom I had conversed, was named Johnson, or “old John, 
sfl n,” as some of his juniors called him. He was a sharp, brisk 
sc rt of an old fellow ; and I could perceive, at a glance there was 
n<i chance of his being humbugged by any made-up story. I, there- 
fore, changed my tactics; and frankly acknowledged myself to be a 
deserter from the United States’ troops, occupying the last fort he 
had passed. It was scarce necessary to add that my destination 
was California. I finished by proposing; that he should have my 
services in whatever capacity he might require them, in considera- 
tion of furnishing me with food upon the journey. 

“ Now, 1 like that way of talking,” said old Johnson, when I 
h^d concluded, “ we Just chance to need your help, and that of your 
horse, too ; and we’ll try to do the best we can for you. You must 
expect to see some hard times ; before we get through- — plenty of 
work and no great feeding — but do your share of the work, and you 
shall fare like the rest of us.” 

I could ask nothing fairer than this ; and the next day, found me 
dressed in a suit of “ linsey wolsey,” working my passage to Cali- 
fornia, by taking my share with the others, in clearing the track of 
obstructions, driving the cattle, and such other duties as fall to the 
lot of the overland emigrant. 

The journey proved long, fatiguing, and irksome — much more so 
than I had expected ; and many times a day did I swear, that, if I 
ever worked a passage to California again, it should be by water. 
I was impatient to get on ; and chafed at the slow pace at which we 
crawled forward. Horses and cattle would stray, or make a stam- 
pede ; and then much time would be lost in recovering them. 

Sometimes we would reach a stream, where a bridge had to be 
built or repaired ; and two or three days would be spent at the 
work. The draught horses and oxen would die ; or, becoming una- 
ble to proceed farther, would have to be left behind. The strength 
of our teams were being constantly weakened — until they were un 
ahie to draw the hea\dly loaded waggons ; and it became necessary 
U abandon a portion of their contents — which was thrown away 


90 


LOST LENORK j 


upon the prairies. The first articles that were thus abandoned, were 
carpets and other useless things, not required on the journey, but 
which to please the women, or at their instigation, had been put in- 
to the waggons at starting, and dragged for six or seven hundred 
miles. 

The dogs, that, at the commencement of the journey, had for each 
mile of the road, travelled about three times that distance, having 
worn the skin from the soles of their feet, now crawled along after 
the waggons without taking one unnecessary step. They seemed 
at length to have reached the comprehension ; that the journey was to 
be a protracted one ; and that while undertaking it, the idle amuse- 
ment of chasing birds was not true canine wisdom. 

I shall not startle my readers with a recital of any remarkable 
adventures we had with the hostile Indians ; for the simple reason 
we had none. They gave us much trouble for all that ; since our 
fear of encountering them, kept us constantly on the alert — one of 
our party, and sometimes more, standing sentry over the camp 
throughout the whole of every night. 

If my readers reason aright, they will give me credit for not 
drawing on my imaginations for any part of this narrative. They 
may easily perceive that, by thus eschewing the subject of an en. 
counter with Indians, I lose an excellent opportunity for embellish 
ing my true tale with an introduction of fiction. 

As we approached the termination of our journey, the teams be. 
came weaker — until it took all of them united in one yoke to draw 
a single waggon, containing only the youngest of the children, and 
a few pounds of necessary provisions. 

The old ladies, along with their daughters, performed the last 
hundred miles of their journey on foot, and when we at length 
reached the first settlement — on the other side of the mountains — a 
band of more wretched looking individuals could scarce have been 
seen elsewhere. My own appearance was no exception to that of 
my companions. My hat was a dirty rag wrapped around my 
head like a turban ; while my boots were nothing more than pieces 
of buffalo hide wrapped around my feet with strings. For all this, 
I was as well dressed as any of the party. 

My agreement with old Johnson was now fulfilled ; and I was at 
liberty to leave him. I was anxious to be off to the diggings, 
where his oldest son, James ; a y wng man about twenty years 
•Id, proposed accompanying me. Old Johnson declined going to 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. tfl 

the diggings himself— his object in coming to California, being to “ lo- 
cate ” a farm, while the country was still “ young.’' 

He furnished us with money to buy clothing and tools, as well 
as to keep us in food for awhile ; until we should get fairly under 
weigh in the profession we were about to adopt. 

I promised to repay my share of this money to his son ; as soon 
as I should earn its equivalent out of the auriferous earth of Califor- 
nia. 

“ Now, I like that way of talking,” said old Johnson, “for I’m a 
poor man ; and as I have just come here to make a fortune, I can’t 
afford to lose a cent.” 

I parted with Mr. Johnson and his party of emigrants with some 
regret, for they all had been more kind to me than I had any reason 
to expect. 

I have never found the people of this world quite so bad as they 
are often represented ; and it is my opinion, that any man who en- 
deavors to deserve true friendship, will always succeed in obtain- 
ing it. 

I have never met a man whose habit was to rail against mankind 
in general, and his own acquaintances in particular, whose friendship 
was worth cultivation. Such a man has either proved unworthy of 
friendship, and has never obtained it ; or he has obtained, and ther»> 
fore possesses that, for which he is ungrateful. 


m 


LOST LSVORBI 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A “ PROSPECTING EXPEDITION.” 

Ok parting with the Californian colonist, young J ohnson and I pro 
ceeded direct to the diggings on the Yuba, where, after looking 
about a day or so, we joined partnership with two others, and set to 
work on a ‘‘claim” close by the banks of the river. 

We had arrived at an opportune season — the summer of 1849 — 
when every miner was doing well. There was a good deal of gen* 
erosity amoung the miners at this time ; and those who could not 
discover a good claim by their own exertions, would have one 
pointed out with directions how to work it. 

Our party toiled four weeks at the claim we had chosen, and was 
very successful in obtaining gold. Never did my hopes of the 
future appear so bright. Never did Lenore seem so near. 

No gold washing could be done on the Yuba during the winter — 
the water in the river being then too high — and as we had not much 
longer to work, it was proposed by three men, who held the claim 
adjoining ours that we should join them in prospecting for some 
new diggings — where we might be able to continue at work all the 
winter, unembarassed by too much water and too many miners. 

One of our neighbours who made this proposal, had visited a 
place about forty miles farther up the country — where he believed 
we might find a “ placer” such as we required. He had been upon 
a hunting expedition to the place spoken of; and while there did 
not look for gold — having no mining tools along with him ; but 
from the general appearance of the country, and the nature of the 
soil, he was convinced we might find in it some rich dry diggings, 
that would be suitable for working in the winter. 

It was proposed that one of us should accompany the man on a 
prospecting expedition ; that we should take plenty of provisions 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STOVE. 92 

with US, and search until we should discover suoh diggings as wt 
desired. 

To this proposal, both parties agreed ; and I was the one chosen, 
by Johnson and my other companions, to represent them in the 
expedition — the expenses of which were to be equally shared by 

all. 

Before starting, I left with young James Johnson my share of th 
gold we had already obtained — which amounted to about sixty 
ounces. 

The hunter and I started — taking with us three mules. Each 
of us rode one — having our roll of blankets lashed to the croup of 
the saddle. A sixty pound bag of flour, some other articles of 
food, a tent, and the necessary “ prospecting” tools formed “ the 
cargo” of the third mule ; which, in the language of California, was 
what we call a “ pack mule.” 

My fellow prospecter was only known to me by the name of 
Hiram. 1 soon discovered that he was not an agreeable companion 
— at least — in such an expedition as that we had undertaken. He 
was not sociable ; but, on the contrary, w’ould remain for hours 
without speaking a word ; and then, when called upon to say some- 
thing, he would do so in a voice, the tones of which were anything 
but musical. 

The animal I bestrode had been christened “Monte,” that of 
Hiram was called “ Poker ;” and the mule carrying “ the cargo” 
was “ Uker.” With such a nomenclature for our beasts, we might 
easily have been mistaken for a pair of card-sharpers. 

Our progress over the hills was not very rapid. We were 
unable to go in a direct line ; and were continually wandering around 
steep ridges, or forced out of our way by tributaries of the main 
river — which last we were frequently compelled to ascend for miles 
before we could find a crossing place. 

Although fortunate in having good mules, I do not think that our 
travel averaged more than fifteen miles a day, in a direct line from 
where we started, though the actual distance travelled would be 
over thirty ! 

Late in the evening of our third day out, our pack mule, in ford 
ing a stream, got entangled among the branches of a fallen tree ; 
and, while trying to extricate the animal out of its dilemma, Hiram 
was pulled into the water, and jammed against a limb — so as to 
suffer a serious injury. 

That night we encamped by the stream — near the place where th» 


04 


LOST LENORI J 


accident had happened ; and, about midnight, when I was changing 
my mule — Monte — to a fresh feeding place, the animal became 
suddenly alarmed at something, and broke away from me — pulling 
the lazo through my Hands, till not only was the skin peeled clean 
off my fingers, but one or two of them were cut clean to the bone. 
I reproached myself for not sooner having had the sense to let go ; 
but, as usual, the reproach came after the damage had been done. 

The mule, on getting free, started over the ridge as though she 
had been fired from a cannon — while Poker and Uker, taking the 
hint from their companion, broke their tethers at the same instant, 
and followed at a like rate of speed. 

I returned to Hiram, and communicated the unpleasant intelli- 
gence : that the mules had stampeded. 

“ That’s a very foolish remark,” said he ; ‘‘ for you know I’m not 
deaf.” 

This answer did not fall very graciously on my ear ; but having 
made up my mind, to remain in good humour with my companion 
as long as possible, I pretended not to notice it. I simply said in 
reply, that I thought there must either be a grizzly bear, or Indians, 
near us — to have stampeded the mules. 

“ Of course thar is,” said Hiram, in a tone more harsh than I had 
ever before heard him use. 

I fancied that he was foolish enough to blame me for the loss of 
the mules ; and was a little vexed with him, for the way in which 
he had answered me. 

I said nothing more; but, stepping aside I bandaged up my 
fingers, and tried to obtain a little sleep. At sunrise I got up ; 
and, having first dressed my wounded fingers, I kindled a fire, and 
made some coffee. 

“ Come, Hiram !” said I, in an encouraging tone, “ turn out, 
mate ! W e may have a hard day’s work in looking for the mules ; 
but no doubt we’ll find them all right.” 

“ Find them yourself,” he answered. “ I shan’t look for them.” 

I had much difficulty in controlling my temper, and restraining 
myself from giving Hiram an uncourteous reply. 

To avoid subjecting myself to any more of his ill-natured 
speeches, I returned to the fire, and ate my breakfast alone. 

While engaged in this operation, I pondered in my own mind 
what was best to be done. It ended by my coming to the deter- 
mination to go in search of my mule Monte ; and, having found 
her, to return to my partners on the Yuba. I felt certain, that 


OR, THB ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 95 

should I attempt farther to prosecute the expedition along with 
Hiram, and he continue to make the disagreeable observations of 
which he had already given me a sample, there would certainly 
be a row between us. In some parts of the world, where people 
think themselves highly enlightened, two men getting angry with 
one another, and using strong language, is not an unusual occur- 
rence; and very seldom results in anything, more than both 
proving themselves snarling curs. But it is not so in California, 
where men become seriously in earnest — often over trifling affairs ; 
and had a row taken place between my comrade and myself, I knew 
that only one story would have been told concerning it. 

I finished my breakfast ; and, leaving Hiram in his blankets, I 
started off over the ridge to find Monte. I searched for the mules 
about six hours ; and having been unsuccessful iu my search, I re- 
turned to the camp without them. 

Hiram was still wrapped up in his blanket, just as I had left 
him ; and then the truth suddenly flashed into my dark mind, like 
lightning over a starless sky. 

Hiram was ill, and I had neglected him ! 

The bruise on his side, received against the fallen tree, was more 
serious than I had supposed; and this had misled me. He had 
made no complaint. 

The moment I became aware of my mistake I hastened to his 
side. 

“ Hiram,” said I, ** you are ill 1 Forgive me, if you can. I fear 
that my thoughtlessness, and passionate temper, have caused you 
much suffering.” 

He made no reply to my conciliatory speech. He was in a very 
high fever : and asked faintly for water. 

I took the tin vessel, in which I had made the coffee ; and having 
filled it at the stream, gave him a pint cup full. 

He drank the water eagerly ; and then found voice to talk to me. 
He said that he was glad that I had returned ; for he wished to tell 
me where he had buried some gold, and where his wife and child 
were living, and could be written to. 

He spoke with great difficulty ; and soon called for more water. 

I again filled the cup nearly full, and handed it to him. After 
drinking every drop that was in it he requested me to give him^ the 
coffee-can ; but, thinking that he had drunk enough water, I declined 
acceding to his request ; and tried to persuade him, that too much 
water would do him a serious injury. He only answered me by 
clamouring for more water. 


96 


LOST LENOBS; 


“ Wait but a little while,” said 1 . “ In a few minutes you shall 
have some more.” 

“ Give it me now ! Give it me now ! Will you not give me 
some now 

Knowing that the quantity he had already drunk, could not fail 
to be injurious to him, I refused to let him have any more. 

“ Give me some water !” he exclaimed, with more energy of ^ 
voice and manner, than I had ever known him to exhibit. 

I replied by a negative shake of the head. 

“ Inhuman wretch ?” he angrily cried out. “ Do you refuse ? 
Refuse to give a dying man a drop of water !” 

I once more endeavoured to convince him, that there would be 
danger in his drinking any more water — that there was yet a chance 
for him to live; but, while talking to him, I perceived a change 
s;iddenly stealing over his features. He partly raised himself into 
a sitting position ; and then commenced cursing me, in the most 
horrible language I had ever heard from the lips of a dying man ! 

After continuing at this for several minutes he sank back upon 
the grass, and lay silent and motionless. 

Allowing a short interval to elapse, I approached the prostrate 
form, and gently laid my hand upon his forehead. I shall never 
forget the sensation that thrilled through me, as I touched his skin. 
It was already cold and clammy — convincing me that my prospect- 
ing companion had ceased to live ! 

I passed the whole of the following day in trying to recover the 
mules. Had I succeeded, J would have taken the body to some 
«amp of diggers, and buried it in a Christian manner. 

As this was not possible, with my lame hands, I scooped out a 
shallow grave ; and buried the body as I best could. 

Having completed my melancholy task, I started afoot to rejoin 
my partners on the Yuba — where I arrived — after several days 
spent in toilsome wandering — footsore and dispirited. 

The adventure had taught me two lessons. Never to refuse any 
one a drink of water when I could give it ; and to be ever after careful 
in interpreting the language of others — lest some wrong might be 
fancied, where none was intended. 


JBSL ADVSUTURES OF A ROLUSO RSONS. 


Of 


CHAPTER XX. 

Richard quinawr. 

Oif my return to the Yuba, with the sad tale of my comrade’t 
death — and the consequent unfortunate termination of our prospect- 
ing scheme — Hiram’s partners made search for his gold, in every 
place where it was likely to have been buried. 

i'heir search proved fruitless. The precious treasure could not 
be found. Unfortunately, none of us knew where his family re- 
sided. He had been incidently heard to say, that he came from the 
state of Delaware ; but this was not sufficient clue to enable any 
of us to communicate with his relatives. 

His wife has probably watched long for his return; and may 
yet believe him guilty of that faithlessness — too common to men 
who have left their homes on a similar errand. 

As our claim on the Yuba was well nigh exhausted, we dissolved 
partnership — each intending to proceed somewhere else on his own 
account. Young Johnson — who had been my companion across the 
plains — never before having been so long away from his parents, 
determined upon going home to them, and there remaining all the 
winter. 

1 had heard good accounts of the southern “ placers,” which, being 
of the sort known as “ dry diggins,” were best worked during the 
rainy season. Three or four men, from the same “ bar” where wa 
had been engaged, were about starting for the Mocolumne ; and, 
after bidding James Johnson and my other mates a friendly fare- 
well, I set out along with this party. 

After reaching our destination, 1 joined partnership with two of 
my travelling companions ; and, during the greater part of the win- 
ter, we worked upon Red Gulch — all three of us doing well. 

Having exhausted our claim, my two partners left me, both tc 
return home to New York. Being thus left once more alone, I do- 


m 


LOST lenork; 


termined upon proceeding still farther south — to the Tuolumne riv 
er, there to try my fortune during the summer. 

On my way to the Tuolumne, I fell in with a man named Rich- 
ard Guinane, who had just come up from San Francisco City. He 
was also en route for the diggings at Tuolumne ; and we arranged 
to travel together. 

He was going to try his luck in gold seeking for the second time •, 
and, finding him an agreeable companion, I proposed that we should 
become partners. My proposal was accepted — on the condition 
that we should stop awhile on the Stanislaus — a river of whose 
auriferous deposits my new partner had formed a very high opitt 
ion. 

To this I made no objection; and, on reaching the Stanislaus, 
we pitched our tents upon its northern bank. 

When I became a little acquainted with the past history of my 
companion, I might reasonably have been expected to object to the 
partnership. From his own account, he was born to ill-luck : and, 
such being the case, I could scarce hope that fortune would favour 
me — so long as 1 was in his company. Assuredly was Richard 
Guinane the victim of unfortunate circumstances. There are 
many such in the world ; though few whom Fortune will not some- 
times favour with her smiles — ^when they are deserved ; and, ofb 
times, when they are not. 

Richard Guinane, according to his own account of himself, was 
one of these few. Circumstances seemed to have been always 
against him. Each benevolent, or praise-worthy action he might 
perform, appeared to the world as dictated by some base and selfish 
feeling ! Whenever he attempted to confer a favour, the effort re- 
sulted in an injury, to those whom he meant a benefit. Whenever 
he tried to win a friend, it ended by making an enemy ! 

His hopes of happiness had ever proved delusive — his anticipa- 
tions of misery were always realized ! 

Pride, honor, in short, every noble feeling that man should pos- 
sess, appeared to be his ; and yet fate-so controlled those sentiments, 
that each manifestation of them seemed, to the world, the reverse 
of the true motive that inspired it. Such was Guinane’s character 
— partly drawn from statements furnished by himself, and partly 
from facts that came under my own observation. 

Certain circumstances of his life, which he made known to me, 
had produced an impression on my memory ; but more especially 
those of which ( was myself a sp<?ctator, and which brought his 


on, THE ADVENTUEES OF A ROLLING STONE. 99 

unhappy existence to an abrupt and tragical termination. The 
history of his life is too strange to be left unrecorded. 

Richard Guinane was a native of New York State; where his 
father died before he was quite five years of age — leaving a wife 
and three children, of whom Dick was the eldest. 

So early had Dick’s ill -fortune made its appearance, that befor»‘ 
he had reached his fourteenth year, he had established the reputa 
tion of being the greatest thief and liar in his native village ! 

When once this character became attached to him, no church 
window could be broken, nor any other mischief occur, that was 
not attributed to Dick Guinane ; although, according to his own 
account, he was really the best behaved boy in the place ! 

Near the residence of his mother, lived the widow of a merchant ; 
who had left a small fortune to his only child, a daughter — the 
widow having the sole charge both of the fortune and the heiress — 
already a half grown girl. 

With a charming voice, this young lady would answer to the 
name of Amanda Milne. She had seen Dick every day, since her 
earliest childhood ; and she had formed abetter opinion of him than 
of any other lad in the village. She was the only one in the place, 
except his own mother, who felt any regard for Dick Guinane. All 
his other neighbors looked upon him, as a living evidence of God’s 
amazing mercy ! 

Like most young ladies, Amanda was learning some accomplish- 
ments — to enable her to kill time in a genteel, and useless manner. 

The first great work achieved by her fingers, and to her own 
entire satisfaction, was a silk purse — which it had not taken her 
quite two months to knit. This purse, on a favorable opportunity 
having ofiered itself, was presented to Dick. 

Not long after, her mother wished to exhibit her needle-work to 
some friends — as a proof of the skill and industry of her daughter, 
who was requested to produce the purse. 

Amanda knew that Dick was not liked by the inhabitants of the 
village ; and that her own mother had an especially bad opinion 
of him. Moreover, the Guinane family was not so wealthy as the 
widow Milne; and in the opinion of many, there was no equality 
whatever between the young people representing each. 

Though Amanda was well aware of all this, had she been alone 
with her mother, in all likelihood she would have told the truth ; 
but, in the presence of strangers, she acted as most other girls would 
have done under similar circumstances. She said she had lost the 


100 


LCMTf uuiorb; 


purse; and had searched for it everywhere without finding it 
About that time, Dick was seen in possession of a purse ; and would 
give no account, of how he came by it. The two facts that Amanda 
Milne had lost a purse, and that Dick Guinane had one in his pos- 
session, soon became the subject of a comparison ; and the acquain- 
tances of both arrived at the conclusion : that Amanda, as she had 
stated, must have lost her purse, and that Dick must have stolen it. 

Time passed on — each month producing some additional evidence 
to condemn poor Dick in the estimation of his acquaintances. 

Mrs. Guinane was a member of the Methodist Church, over which 
presided the Rev. Joseph Grievous. This gentleman was in the 
habit of holding frequent conversations with Mrs. Guinane, on the 
growing sinfulness of her son* Notwithstanding her great reve- 
rence for her spiritual instructor, she could not perceive Dick’s 
terrible faults. Withal, the complaints made to her — of his killing 
cats, dogs, and geese, stealing fruit, and breaking windows — were 
so frequent, and apparently so true, that she used to take Dick ti. 
task, and in a kindly way read long maternal lectures to him. 

Dick always avowed his innocence — even in the presence of Mr 
Grievous— -and would use the best of arguments to prove himsel/ 
“ not guilty.” This pretence of innocence, in the opinion of th 
Rev. Grievous, was a wickedness exceeding all his other misdeeds 
and the sanctimonious gentleman suggested the remedy, of having 
Dick beaten into confession and repentance ! To this course of' 
treatment, however, Mrs. Guinane firmly refused to give her con 
sent. 

One day, Dick had been to a neighbouring town ; and when ri 
turning, had passed a house— to the gate of which the old and wel 
known horse of the Rev. Grievous stood tied. Simply noticing th 
horse, and reflecting that his reverend owner must be inside th 
house, Dick continued on. 

When near his mother’s house, he was overtaken by the horse 
that had come trotting along the road after him. The horse wai 
without a rider ; which proved that, not being properly secured, k 
had got loose. 

Dick caught the horse; mounted, him; and commenced riding 
back — for the purpose of delivering him to the minister; for he couK 
not permit, that so pious a person should have to walk hom-c* 
through the mud. 

The road was bad — like most of the country roads in the Unites 
States— and Dick was already fatigued with a long walk. To tak* 


OB, THB ADVENTURES OE A ROLLINQ BTONS« 101 

the horse to the house where his owner was visiting, would give him 
more than a mile to walk back ; but no personal consideration could 
deter the lad from doing what he thought to be his duty. 

On coming out of his house — where he had been visiting one 

the menbers of his church — Mr. Grievous was surprised not to 
find his horse ; but the mystery was fully explained when, after 
proceeding a short distance, he saw Dick Guinane on the horse’s 
back. 

Here was evidence welcome to Mr. Grievous. Dick was at one 
of his old games — caught in the very act — riding another man’s 
horse — and that horse the property of his own minister. 

The Rev. Joseph was rejoiced; as he had long been looking 
for an opportunity like this. He attributed all Dick’s misdeeds to 
the want of proper chastisement ; and here was a good reason for 
administering it to him. Dick had no father to correct his faults ; 
and, in the opinion of Mr. Grievous, his mother was too lenient 
with the lad. 

He had long promised, that if ever he caught Dick in any mis- 
demeanour, h© would himself administer a lesson that would not 
only benefit the boy, but the community in which he dwelt. He 
would be only fulfilling a duty, which his sacred office imposed upon 
him ; and the present opportunity was too good a one to be lost. 

Dick rode up to the minister, dismounted, and accosted him in a 
manner that should have been proof of innocence. Perhaps it 
would have been, by any other person ; but to the Rev. Grievous, 
Dick’s confident deportment — inspired by the consciousness of hav- 
ing acted rightly — only aggravated the offence of which he was sup- 
posed to be guilty. — His bold effrontery was but the bearing of a 
person long accustomed to crime. So reasoned Mr. Grievous ! 

Without giving Dick time to finish his explanation, the minister 
seized him by the collar ; and, with his riding whip, commenced 
administering to him a vigorous chastisement. 

Dick was at the time over sixteen years of age ; and was, moro 
over, a strong, active youth for his years. 

So great was his respect, for all persons, whom he thought supe- 
rior to himself, that for some time he bore the chastisement — unre- 
sistingly permitted the minister to proceed in the execution of his 
fancied duty. 

Human nature could not stand such treatment long ; and Dick’s 
temper at length giving way, he picked up a stone, hurled it at tho 


102 


LOfiT lenorb; 


head ot the reverend horse-whipper — who, on receiving the blow, 
fell heavily to the earth. 

He rose again, and in all probability would have returned to a 
more vigorous use of his horse-whip, had his victim been still with- 
in reach ; but Dick had secured himself against farther punishment, 
by taking to his heels, and placing a wide distance between himself 
and his irate pastor. 

Next day, Dick was brought before a magistrate; the Eev. Griev- 
ous, upon oath, being compelled to make a somewhat true state- 
ment of the affair. The justice had no other course than to dis- 
charge the prisoner ; which he did with reluctance — expressing re- 
gret that the strict letter of the law did not allow him to deal with 
the offence in the manner it so justly merited ! 

His native village no longer afforded a peaceful home for Dick 
Guinane. 

He was pointed at in the streets. Other boys of his age were 
forbidden by their parents to play with him : and the little school 
girls crossed the road in terror, as they saw him approach. In the 
opinion of the villagers, he had reached the climax of earthly ini 
quity. 

He was sent to reside with an uncle — his mother’s brother — who 
lived in the city of New York. Before leaving his native place, he 
attempted to make a call on Amanda Milne ; but was met at the 
door by her mother, who refused either to admit him within the 
house, or allow her daughter to see him. 

Shortly after reaching his new home in the great city, he receiv- 
ed a letter from his mother — enclosing a note from Amanda, the 
contents of which partly repaid him for all the injuries he had suf- 
fered. 

During a residence of five years in New York, he was unsuccess- 
ful in everything he undertook ; and, unfortunately though from 
no fault of his own, lost the confidence of his uncle, as also his pro- 
tection. 

He returned to his native village ; where he found that he was 
still remembered with disfavour. 

He talked of love to Amanda Milne ; but his suit was rejected. 
She admitted being much prepossessed in his favonr, and that he 
had no rival in her affections : but what woman can brave the ridi- 
cule of all her acquaintances, and the anger of an only parent, by 
adopting a lover universally shunned and condemned. 

Dick once more bade adieu to his native village ; and after vari- 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 103 

OU3 vicissitudes in the different cities of the United States, at length 
found his way to California. He had been one of the most fortu- 
nate miners on the Feather river ; and had invested the money 
made there in a dry goods store, in San Francisco. 

Just one week after entering upon his new business, the city of 
Sail Francisco was burnt to the ground ; and Dick’s dry goods 
store, including the contents, along with it. 

With only one hundred dollars in his purse, he again started for 
the diggings ; and it was while journeying thither that he and I 
caaae together, and entered into partnership as above related. r 


CHAPTER XXL 


Afteb breaking ground upon the Stanislaus, we toiled for three 
weeks without any success. Every one around us seemed to be 
doing well ; but the several mining claims worked by Guinane, 
and myself seemed to be the only places in the valley of the Stan- 
islaus where no gold existed. Not a grain rewarded our labours. 

“ For your sake, we had better part company,” said Guinane 
to me one evening, after we had toiled hard all day, and obtained 
nothing. “ You will never have any luck, so long as you are my 
partner.” 

I was inclined to think there was some truth in what my com- 
rade said : but I did not like the idea of leaving a man, merely be- 
cause he had been unfortunate. 

“ Your fate cannot long contend with mine,” I answered, “ I am 
one of the most fortunate fellows in the world. If we continue to 
act in partnership, my good fortune, will, in time, overcome the ill- 
luck that attends upon you. Let us keep together awhile longer.” 

“ Very well,” assented Guinane, “ but I warn you that some one 
above — or below, may be — has a ‘ down ’on me : and the good gen- 
ius attending you, will need to be very powerful to make things 
square. However, you lead the way, and I will follow.” 

I did lead the way ; and we went to Sonora, further south ; 
where we entered upon a claim at a place called Dry Creek. Here 
we met with success, of which we could not reasonably complain. 

We often used to walk into Sonora in the evening ; and amuse 
ourselves, by witnessing the scenes occuring in the gambling houses, 
or having a dance with the bright-eyed Mexican senoritas. 

One evening, while loitering about in one of the gambling houses, 
we saw a digger who was intoxicated, almost to the degree of 
drunkeness. He was moving about in half circles over the floor, 
keeping his feet under him with much difficulty, unknown to him- 
self. Every now and then, he loudly declared his intention of 
going home ; as if he thought such a proceeding on his part, was 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLINO STONE. 105 

»ne in which all around him must be highly interested. Each time, 
before going, he would insist upon having another drink ; and this 
continued, until he had swallowed several glasses of brandy, on the 
top of those that had already produced his intoxication. In paying 
for these drinks, he pulled out a bag of gold-dust, which carried, 
judging from its size, about one hundred ounces ; and a man behind 
the bar, weighed from it the few’ specks required in payment for the 
liquor. 

There w'as something in the appearance of this miner that 
strangely interested me. I fancied that I had seen him before ; but 
could not tell where. While I was endeavoring to identify him, he 
staggered out of the house into the street — leaving me in doubt, as 
to whether we had met before or not. 

The thoughts of my companion Guinane, were not absorbed by 
wanderings like mine ; and he had been more observant of what 
was transpiring around him. After the miner had gone out, he 
came close up to me, and whispered : — 

“That man will be robbed. When he pulled out his bag of gold 
to pay for the drink, I saw two men exchange glances, and walk out 
before him. They will waylay, and rob him. Shall we let them 
do itr 

“ Certainly not,” I answered ; “ I like the look of the man ; and 
do not think that he deserves to lose his money.” 

“ Come on then !” said Guinane ; and we both stepped out into 
the street. 

The first direction in which we turned was the wrong one : for, 
after proceeding about a hundred yards, nothing of the drunken man 
was to be seen ; and we knew that he was too drunk to have got 
any farther away. 

We turned back ; and walked at a quick pace — indeed, ran — in 
the opposite direction. This time our pursuit was more successful. 
We saw the drunken miner lying on the pavement, with two men 
standing over him ; who pretended, as we came up, that they were 
his friends ; and that they were endeavoring to get him home. 

Had the drunken man been willing to accept of their assistance, 
we might have found no excuse for interferring ; but as we drew 
near, we could hear him exclaiming, “ Avast there, mates ! I can 
navigate for myself. Be off, or, dammee ! I’ll teach you manners.’ 

“Stormy Jack!” I exclaimed, rushing forward, followed by 
Guinane. “ ’Tis you, Stormv % What’s wrong ? Do you want any 
help 1” 


106 


LOST LENORE J 


“ Yes,” replied Jack ; “ teach these fellows some manners for me. 
My legs are too drunk ; and 1 can’t do so myself.” 

The two men moved silently, but rapidly away. 

“ Have you got your gold 1” I asked, ready for pursuit in case 
the fellows had robbed him. 

“ Yes, that’s all right. One of them tried to take it ; but I 
Wouldn’t let him. I’m sober enough for that. It’s only my legs 
that be drunk. My hands are all right.” 

Stormy’s legs were indeed drunk ; so much so, that Guinane and 
I had much difficulty in getting him along. We were obliged to 
place him between us, each supporting one of his sides. After con- 
siderable labor, we succeeded in taking him to a house where I was 
acquainted. Here we put him to bed ; and, after leaving instrue- 
tions with the landlord, not to let him depart until one of us should 
return, we went home to our own lodgings. 

Next morning, at an early hour, I called to see Stormy ; and 
found him awake and waiting for me. 

“ You done me a good turn last night,” said he, and I shall not 
forget it, as I have you.” 

“Why do you think you have forgotten me?” I asked. 

“Because last night you called me Stormy Jack; and from that, 
I know you must have seen me before. I’ve not been hailed by 
that name for several years. Now, don’t tell me who you are ; for 
1 want to find out for myself.” 

“ You could not have been very drunk last night,” said I, “ or 
you would not remember what you were called ?” 

“ Yes, would I,” answered Stormy, “ according as the land lay, 
or what sort of drunk it was. Sometimes my mind gets drunk, 
and sometimes my legs. It’s not often they both get drunk 
together. Last night it was the legs. Had you been a man six or 
seven years ago, when I was called Stormy Jack, I should remember 
you : for I’ve got a good memory of things that don’t change much. 
But when I used to be called Stormy Jack, you must have been a 
bit o’ a tiny boy. Now, who can you be 1 What a stupid memory 
I’ve got !” continued he, scratching his head. “There’s no way of 
teaching it manners, as I knows of. But what boy used to call me 
Stormy Jack — that looked as you ought to have looked a few years 
ago ? Ah ! now I have it. Bless my eyes, if you arn’t the Rollin’ 
Stone !” 

Stormy then rushed forward ; grasped my hand ; and nearly 
crushed it between his strong, sinewy fingers. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 107 

“Rowley, my boy!’’ said he, “I knew we should meet again. 
I’ve thought of you, as I would of my own son, if I’d had one. I’ve 
looked the world over, trying to find you. How came you to hail 
me by name last night? You are an astonishing chap. I knew 
you would be ; and some one has larnt you manners. Ah ! I sup- 
pose ’twas Nature as did it?” 

1 need not say, that Stormy and I, after this singular renewal of 
companionship, were not likely to part in a hurry. We passed 
tbcit day together, talking over old times, Stormy giving me a history 
of some events of his life, which had transpired since our parting in 
New Orleans. 

“ On the morning I last saw you,” said he, “ I went to work on 
the ship, as I intended ; and did a hard day’s work — for which I’ve 
never yet been paid. 

“ When I was going home to you, I met an old shipmate ; and, 
in course, we went into a grog-shop to have something to drink. 

“ After having a glass with my friend at his expense, of course, 
it was but right for him to have one at mine. We then parted 
company ; and I made tracks for the lodging-house, where I had left 
you. 

“ Them two glasses of brandy, after working hard all the after- 
noon in the hot sun, did more for me, than ever the same quantity had 
done before. I was drunk somewhere ; though I was not exactly 
certain where. 

“ J ust before reaching the house where we were staying, I met the 
first-breezer ; who, you remember, had knocked me down with the 
carpenter’s mallet. W ell ! without more ado, 1 went to work to 
teach him manners. 

“ While giving him the lesson, I larnt that it was only my head 
that was drunk: for my legs and arms did their duty. I beat 
and kicked him in a way, that would have rejoiced the heart of any 
honest man. Just as I was polishing him off, two constables came 
up, and collared me away to goal. 

“ The next morning, I was sentenced to one month’s imprisonment. 
Captain Brannon did not like that : for he wanted me back ab( ard 
of his ship. But the magistrate, mayor, or whatever he was, that 
sentenced me, had too much respect for me to allow the captain to 
have his own way ; and I was lodged and fed, free of all expense, 
until the ‘ Hope’ had sailed. 

“ After coming out of the gaol, I went strait to the boarding- 
house, in hopes of finding you still there 5 but I larnt you had gone 


108 


LOST lenoee; 


away, the next day after I was jugged ; and the old woman could 
not give any account ot where you had drifted to. I thought that 
you had joined the ‘ Hope’ again, and gone home. I’ve been every- 
where over the world since then ; and I don’t know how I could have 
missed seeing you before now ! 

“ I came to San Francisco Bay in an English ship — the captain 
of which tried to hinder the crew from deserting, by anchoring some 
distance from the city, and keeping an armed watch over them. 
He thought we were such fools as to leave San Francisco in 
his ship for two pounds a month, when, by taking another vessel, 
we could get twenty ! He soon found out his mflstake. W e larnt 
him manners, by tying and gagging him, as well as his . first officer, 
and steward. Then we all went ashore in the ship’s boats — leaving 
the ship where I suppose she is now — to rot in the bay of San Fran- 
cisco. 

“ After coming up to the diggings, I had no luck for a long time ; 
but I’m now working one of the richest claims as ever was opened.” 

During the day, I told Stormy the particulars of my visit to 
Dublin ; and the trouble I was in concerning the loss of my rela- 
tives. 

“ Never mind ’em !” said he, “make a fortune here — and then 
make a family of your own. I’ve been told that’s the best way to 
forget old friends ; though, for myself I never tried it.” 

Stormy’s advice seemed wisdom : as it led me to think of Lenore. 
Before parting with my old messmate, I learnt from him where he 
was living. We arranged to see each other often ; and as soon as 
we should have an opportunity of dissolving the respective partner- 
ships in which each was engaged, we should unite and work together. 

Stormy was the first friend who took me by the hand — after I had 
been turned out upon the cold world ; and time had not changed the 
warm attachment I had long ago conceived for the brave sailor. 


CHAPTER XXIL 


BORV TO BAD LVCK. 

Om leaving San Francisco, Guinane had declared his intention of 
going to the Stanislaus river ; and his acquaintances, left behind in 
that city, had been directed to write to him at the latter place. 

One Saturday morning, he borrowed a mule from one o^ the 
neighbouring miners, to ride over to the post office for his letters. 

The miner owning the mule, was just going to his work ; and 
pointed out the animal to Guinane. It was grazing on the hill- 
side, about half a mile distant from our tents. In addition to 
pointing it out, the owner described it to be a brown mule, with rat 
tail, and a hog mane. 

He then brought the saddle and bridle out of his tent ; and, plac- 
ing them at Dick’s disposal, went off to his work. 

Dick proceeded towards the hill ; caught and saddled the mule ; 
and, bidding me good-day, rode off on his journey. 

I was expecting him back that evening ; but he did not return . 
I felt no concern on account of his remaining absent all that night. 
The next day was Sunday ; and knowing that he would not be 
wanted to do any work on the claim, he might, for some purpose 
that did not concern me, have chosen to stay all night in the town. 

Sunday evening came, without Guinane ; and, fearing that some 
accident might have befallen him, I resolved to start next morning 
for the post office, should he not return before that time. 

The next morning came, without bringing back the absentee ; and 
I set out in search of him. 

After going about five miles, T met him returning ; and to my 
surprise, I saw he was afoot ! I was still more surprised as he drew 
near, and 1 obtained a close view of his face and features. Never 


110 


LOST LENORK ; 


in my life had I seen such a change in the person of any individual, 
in so short a time. He seemed at least ten years older, than 
when he left me at the diggings two days before. 

His face w^as pale and haggard ; and there w^as a wild fiendish ex- 
pression in his eyes, that was fearful to behold. I could not have 
believed the. eyes of Richard Guinane capable of such an expres' 
sion. His clothing was torn to rags, bedaubed with dirt, and spot- 
ted with dry blood. In short, his whole appearance was that of a 
man who had been badly abused. 

What has happened I asked, mechanically — as soon as my 
surprise at his appearance permitted me to speak. 

I can’t tell now,” said he, speaking with much difficulty. “ I 
must have water.” 

I turned back ; and we w'alked on towards our tents, in which 
direction we had not far to go, before arriving at a coffee-shop 
There he drank some water, with a glass of brandy ; and then, 
ordering a breakfast, he went out to have a wash in the river — an 
operation of which I had never seen a human being in greater need. 

He ate his breakfast in haste — scarce speaking a word until he 
had finished. Then, starting suddenly from his seat, he hurried out 
of the house ; and moved on along the road towards the place where 
our tents were pitched. 

“ Come on !” cried he. “ I cannot stop to talk. I’ve work to 
do. I want revenge. Look here !” 

He stopped till 1 came up — when, lifting the long dark hair from 
the sides of his head, he permitted me to see that he had no ears. 

“ Will you aid me in obtaining revenge ?” he asked. 

“ Yes,” I answered, “ with my body and soul !” 

“ I knew you would !” he exclaimed. “ Come on ! we have no 
time to lose.” 

As we walked homeward, I learnt from him the particulars of the 
terrible misfortune that had befallen him. 

On the Saturday morning, after starting off* for the town, he had 
got about a mile beyond the place where I had met him, when be 
was overtaken by a party of four Mexicans. 

Before he w'as well aware that they had any intention to molest 
him, a lazo was thrown over his shoulders ; and he was dragged to 
the ground — where his arms were instantly pinioned, 

By signs, he was made to understand : that his captors claimed 
the mule, upon which he had been riding 

Guinane could speak but few works of Spanish ; and therefora 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. Ill 

could not make the Mexicans understand, how the mule came into 
his possession. 

After holding a consultation amongst themselves, they took his 
revolver from him ; and, whilst three of them held him, the forth cut 
oflf both of his ears ! They then mounted their horses, and rode away 
■ — taking with them the mule Guinane had borrowed from the 
miner. 

After going about three hundred yards, they halted ; took off the 
saddle and bridle — which they did not claim to own — threw them 
on the ground, as also Guinane’s revolver ; and then continued their 
course. 

Nothing can be said to justify these men for what they had done ; 
but probably they could have alleged some excuse for their conduct. 

They undoubtedly believed that Guinane had stolen the mule ; 
and they knew that if one of their own countrymen had been caught 
in a similar act, he would have been fortunate to have escaped with 
life. They saw no reason why an American should not be punished 
for a misdeed — as well as a Mexican. 

Guinane pursued them at the top of his speed, insane with grief, 
and burning with indignation. 

They soon rode out of his sight ; but he continued on after them 
—until he fell exhausted to the earth. He must have lain for some 
hours in a state of insensibility; partly caused by loss of blood — 
partly by the fatigue that had followed the wild raging of his pas- 
sions. 

It was night when he recovered his senses ; and in his endeavours 
to reach home, he had wandered among the hills, in every direction 
but the right one. 

I have said that he recovered his senses. The expression is hardly 
correct. He only awoke to consciousness that he still existed — a 
horrible consciousness of the inhuman treatment he had submitted 
to. His most sane thought was that of a burning thirst for ven- 
geance; but so intense had been this desire, that it defeated its own 
object : rendering him unconscious of everything else, and to such a 
degree, that he had only discovered the right road to our camp a 
few minutes before I had met with him. 

“The truth is,” said he, as he finished telling me his story, “I 
returned to the place where I lost my ears, with the insane hope 
that I might meet with the Mexicans. After having a look at the 
place, I recovered my senses once more ; enough to direct me to- 
U'ards the only object for which 1 now care to live and that is, re- 


113 


LOSff LE50RE ; 


veage. I’m not in so much haste for it now, as I was an hour ago. 
There’s plenty of time. I’m young, and will find them sometime. 
Come on ! Come on ! How slow you walk !” 

We were then going at a pace that might be called running. 

On reaching our tents, we learnt that Guinane had actually taken 
the wrong mide ! The miner from whom he had borrowed it, had 
not thought it necessary to describe its brands. Not supposing 
there was another mule in the neighbourhood, in any way resembling 
his own, he had not imagined there could be any mistake. 

From some diggers, we learnt that the Mexicans we wished 
to find, had encamped for the night — near the place where Guinane 
had caught the mule ; and it was not strange they accused him of 
having stolen it. On recovering the animal, in the manner de- 
scribed, they had returned to their camp ; and shortly afterwards 
had resumed their journey. By making some inquiries, we found 
that they had gone southward. 

As they had no mining tools along with them, we came to the 
conclusion, that they were on their way home — into some of the 
northern provinces of Mexico. If so, we might easily overtake 
them, before they could pass out of California. 

We lost no time in making preparations for the pursuit — the 
most important part of which was the providing ourselves with 
good horses. In due time, this difficulty was got over; although 
my bag of gold dust was much lighter, after the purchase of the 
horses had been completed. 

By daybreak of the next morning, we were ready for the road. 
Guinane kept urging me to expedition — in pursuit of those who had 
awakened within his soul a thirst for vengeance, that -blood aloae 
«ould assuage ! 


CHAPTER XXm. 


A CITRIOUS CASH OF SELF-MURDER. 

The pursuit conducted us southward ; and, at almost every place 
where we made inquiry, we heard of four mounted Mexicans — who 
could be no other than the men we were desirous of overtaking. 

For the first two days, we were told, in answer to our inquiries, 
that they were about forty-eight hours in advance of us. 

On the third morning, we again got word of them at a rancho ; 
where they had stopped to bait their horses. The owner of the 
rancho gave a description of a mule which they were leading along 
with them — a brown mule, with rat tail and hog mane. It could 
be no other than the one, which had cost Dick so dearly. 

After feeding their animals, the Mexicans had made no further 
halt; but had taken the road again — as if pressed for time. So 
fancied the ranchero. 

They must have been under some apprehension of being pursued 
— else they would not have traveled in such hot haste. It was 
about forty hours — the man said — since they had taken their depar- 
ture from the rancho. We were gaining upon them but so slowly, 
that Guinane was all the while chafing with impatience. 

He seldom spoke. When he did, it was to urge me to greater 
speed. I had much trouble in holding him sufficiently in check to 
prevent our horses from being killed with over riding. 

From information obtained at the rancho,we could now tell that 
the Mexicans were making for the sea coast instead of directing 
their march towards the interior. If they intended going overland 
to the city of Mexico, they were taking a very indirect road to 
wards their destination. 

At each place where we got a word of them — on the fourth day of 
our pursuit — we learnt that the distance between us was rapidly 
lessening. 

Near the evening of this day, we stopped at another rancho, to 


114 


LOST LENORK ; 


refresh our horses — now nearly done up. The Mexicans had stopped 
at the same place, six hours before. On leaving it, they had taken 
the road to San Luis Obispo. We should arrive there about noon 
on the following day. 

“ To-rnorrow,” said Guinane, as he lay down to snatch a short re- 
pose, while our horses were feeding, “ to-morrow I shall have re- 
venge or death ! My prayer is : God let me live until to-morrow 

Again we were in the saddle — urging our horses along the road to 
San Luis Obispo. 

We reached that place at the hour of noon. Another disappoint- 
ment for my companion ! 

San Louis is a seaport. A small vessel had departed that morn- 
ing for Mazatlan, and the Mexicans were aboard of her ! 

On arriving at the port, they had hastily disposed of their 
animals; and taken passage on the vessel — which chanced to be 
on the eve of sailing. We were just one hour too late ! 

To think of following them further would have been worse than 
madness — which is folly. By the time we could reach Mazatlan, 
they might be hundreds of miles off — in the interior of Mexico. 

Never have I witnessed such despondency, as was exhibited by 
Guinane at that moment. 

So long as there had appeared a chance of overtaking the men^ 
who had injured him, he had been sustained by the hope of revenge ; 
but on our relinquishing the pursuit, the recollection of the many 
misfortunes that had darkened his life, added to this new chagrin, 
came palpably before his mind, suggested thoughts of suicide ! 

“ Twas folly to pursue them at all,” said he. “ I should have 
known that the chance of overtaking them would have been a stroke 
of fortune too good to be mine. Fate has never yet been so kind 
to me, as to grant a favour I so much desired ; and I was a fool to 
expect it. Shall I die 

I used every means in my power te direct his thoughts to some 
other subject ; but he seemed not to heed, either to what I said or 
did. 

Suddenly arousing himself from a long reverie, he emphatically 
exclaimed : 

“ No ! I will war with fate, till God calls me hence ! All the 
curses of fortune shall not make me surrender. All the powers of 
Hell shall not subdue me. I will live and conquer them all !” 

His spirit, after a terrible struggle, had triumphed ; and now rose 
in opposition to fate itself. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 115 

We rode back to the Stanislaus. It was a dreary journey; and I 
was glad when it was over. There had been an excitement in the 
chase, but none in returning from it. Even the horses seemed to 
participate in the cloudy change that had come over our thoughts. 

After arriving at the Stanislaus, I went to see Stormy Jack. I 
found him hard at work, and doing well in his claim — which was 
likely to afford him employment for several weeks longer. I was 
pleased to hear of his success ; and strongly urged him to abstain 
from drink. 

“ I don’t intend to drink any more,” said he, leastwise, as long 
as I’m on the diggins ; and sartinly not when I have any gold about 
me. That last spree, when I came so near losin’ it, has larnt me 
manners.” 

Guinane accompanied me on this visit to Stormy ; and on our 
return, we passed through the town. My partner had left his name 
at the office of “ Reynolds’ Express,” for the purpose of having his 
letters forwarded from the General Post office in San Francisco. 
As we passed the Express Office, he called in, to see if any had 
arrived for him. 

A letter was handed to him — for which he paid in postage and 
express charges, one dollar and fifty cents ! 

After getting the letter, we stepped into a tavern, where he com- 
menced reading it. 

While thus occupied, I noticed that he seemed strangely agi- 
tated. 

“We are friends,” said he, turning short towards me. “I have 
told you some of my troubles of the past. Read this letter, and 
make yourself acquainted with some more. It is from Amanda 
Milne.” 

He held the letter before my eyes, and I read : — 

“ I know your upright and manly spirit will see no impropriety in my 
writing to you. I have done you injustice ; and in doing so, have 
wronged myself as much as you. I have just learnt that your character 
has been injured by a fault of mine — by my not having acknowledged' 
giving you the purse. Forgive me, Richard ! for I love you, and have 
loved you, ever since I was a child.” 

Guinane crumpled the letter between his fingers, and I was able 
to read no more. I saw him suddenly raise his hands towards the 
place where once were his ears — at the same time that I heard him 
muttering the words : 


116 


LOST LENORE : 


“ Too late ! too late !” 

Another movement followed this — quick and suspicious. I looked 
to ascertain its meaning. A revolver was in his hand — its muzzle 
touching his temples ! 

I rushed forward ; but to use his own last words, I was “ too 
late.” 

There was three disticnt sounds : a snap, the report of a pistol, and 
the concussion of a body falling upon the floor. 

I stooped to raise him up. it was too late. He was dead. 

Can the reader comprehend the thought that dictated this act of 
self-destruction ? If not, I must leave him in ignorance. 

In preparing the remains of my comrade for the grave, a silk 
purse containing a piece of paper, was found concealed beneath his 
clothing. There was writing upon the paper, in a female hand. It 
was as follows : — 

“ Dick, 

“ I do not believe the stories people tell of you ; and think you are too 
good to do anything wrong. I am sorry you have gone away. Good 
bye. 

“ Amanda.” 

It was, no doubt, the note he had received from Amanda, after 
his first parting with her — enclosed in the letter of his mother, sent 
after him to New York. It was replaced in the purse, aud both 
were buried along with his body. 

Poor Amada ! She may never learn his sad fate — unleM chanoe 
May direct her to the reading of this narrative. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OE A ROLLINQ STONE. 


117 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


AN IMPATIENT MAN. 


I HAVE not much fault to find with this world — although the people 
in it do some strange things, and often act in a manner that puzzles 
me to comprehend. The man of whom Guinane had borrowed the 
mule, was himself an original character. Afte»* my comrade’s 
death, I became slightly acquainted with this individual; and was 
amused, though also a little pained, at what 1 thought to be his 
eccentric behavior. 

Original types of mankind are, perhaps, more frequently met with 
on gold fields than elsewhere. Men without a certain spirit and 
character of their own, are less likely to adopt a life of so many 
perils and hardships, gold diggei s must needs encounter. 

But there are men who can appear eccentric — even amongst gold 
diggers ; and the individual to whom I have alluded was one of 
these. His name was Foster. 

The mail from the Atlantic States was due in San Francisco 
every fortnight ; and, of course, at about the same interval of time, 
in the different diggings to which the letters were forwarded — the 
StanislauE among the rest. Three days, before its arrival, at the 
last mentioned place, Foster used to leave his work, and go to the 
post-office — which stood a considerable distance from his claim— for 
letters. He would return to his tent, as a matter of course, disap- 
pointed ; but this did not prevent him from going again to the post- 
office, about six hours after. 

“Has the mail arrived yet?” ‘he would inquire of the post- 


w^aster. , _ ^ ^ . i 

“ No. I told you a few hours ago, that I did not expect it m less 

tiian three days.” , r • 4- 4-r. 

“ Yes, I know ; but the mail is uncertain. It is possible for it to 

arrive two or three days earlier than usual ; and I want my letters 

as soon as they get it,” 


US 


LOST LENOBE ; 


“ No doubt/’ the post-master would say, “ no doubt you do ; and 
I advise you to call again in about three days.” 

“ Thank you ; I will do so,” Foster would answer ; and six 
hours after he would call again ! 

“ As soon as the mail arrives,” the post-master would then tell 
him, “ 1 will send your letters to you. It will be less trouble for 
me to do that, than to be so often unnecessarily annoyed.” 

“ No, no !” * Foster would earnestly exclaim, pray don’t trust 
them into the hands of any one. They might be lost. It is no 
trouble for me to call.” 

“ I can easily believe that,” the post-master w'ould rejoin. “ If it 
was any trouble, you would not come so often. 1 must, therefore, 
adopt some plan to save me from this annoyance. As soon as the 
mail arrives 1 will put up a notice out side of the window here, and 
that will save you the trouble of coming in, and me of being both- 
ered with your questions. Whenever you come in front of the 
house, and do not see that notice, you may be sure that the mail 
has not arrived. You understand ?” 

“ Yes, thank you ; but I dont wish to give any unnecessary 
trouble. I dare say the mail will be here by the time I come again. 
Good-day !” 

Six hours after, Foster would be at the post-office again ! 

“ Any news of the mail 1” he would ask. 

“ Are you working a good claim ?” inquired the post-master once 
— in answer to this perpetual dunning. 

“ Yes,” replied Foster. “ Tolerably good.” 

“ I am sorry to hear it.” 

« Why ?” 

“ Because if you were not doing well, you might be willing to go 
into some other business — the post-office for instance — and buy me 
out. If you were here yourself, you would have your letters as 
soon as they arrived. Since getting them seems to be your princi 
pal business, you should be on the spot to attend to it. Such an 
arrangement would relieve me, from a world of annoyance. You 
worry me, more than all the rest of the several hundred people who 
come here for letters. I can’t stand it much longer. You will drive 
me mad. I shall commit suicide. I don’t wish to be uncivil in a 
public capacity ; but I can’t help expressing a wish that you would 
go to h — 11, and never let me see your face again.” 

Foster’s chagrin, at not getting his letters, would be so great, that 
the post-master’s peculiar wish would pass unheeded ; and the let- 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


119 


ter-seeker would only go away to return again, a few hours after. 

Usually about the tenth time he called, the mail would be in ; 
and in the general scramble of the delivery, Foster would get two 
letters — never more, and never less. 

One evening, near mail time, he was, as usual on a visit to the 
post-office after his letters ; and his mate — whose name was Far- 
Tell — having got weary of sitting alone in his tent, came over to 
mine — to pass an hour or two in miner’s gossip. He told me, that 
Foster had been for his letters seven times during the two days that 
had passed ! 

“ He will have to go about three times more,” said Farrell, “ and 
then he will probably get them. The mail should be in this even- 
ing.” 

“ Foster appears to think very much of his family ?” I remarked 
to his partner. “ I never saw a person so impatient ^or news from 
home.” 

“ He is certainly very anxious to hear from home,” said Farrell, 
** but not exactly for the reasons you may be supposing. Foster 
and 1 are from the same neighbourhood, and have known each other 
for many years. We came to California together; and I am well 
acquainted with all the circumstances under whish he is acting. — 
Now, if you hailed from anywhere near that part of the world to 
which we belong, I should say nothing about him ; but as you don’t, 
and it’s not likely you’ll ever drift in that direction, there can be no 
more harm in my telling you what 1 know, than there would be in 
talking about some one of whom we have read, and who has been 
dead a thousand years ago. 

“ Foster married when he was very young — his wife being a wo- 
man about ten years older than himself. She was worse than old 
— she was plain ; and besides had but very little sense. Add to 
this, that she was always ill ; and ill-tempered, and you have a wo, 
man, whom you will admit could not be very agreeable for a 
wife. 

“ He had not been married over s week, before he discovered that 
he had been making a fool of himself. 

“ You have noticed his anxiety about the letters. Well— I shall 
explain it. By every mail, he expects news of the death of his wife ; 
and it is his impatience to hear that which makes him so uneasy 
about the arrival of the post. If he should get a letter to-night con- 
taining the news of her death, he would be the happiest man inCaV 


120 


LOST LENORB ; 


ifornia ; and I dare say would start for home, within an hour aftei 
receiving it.” 

I expressed some surprise, that one man should intrust another 
with such a disgraceful secret ; and plainly proclaimed my disap- 
probation of Foster’s conduct. 

“You are wrong, my friend,” rejoined his partner. “For my 
part, I admire his frank and manly spirit. What is the use of one’s 
pretending that he wishes his wife to live, if he really desires her to 
die 1 I hate a hypocrite, or a person who will, in any way, deceive 
another. I don’t suppose that Foster can help disliking his wife — 
any more than he can keep from sleeping. The feeling may be re- 
sisted for a while; but it will conquer in the end. Foster is a man 
in whom I cannot be deceived ; and I respect him for the plain 
straightforward manner, in which he avows his sentiments.” 

“This indecent impatience to hear of the death of his wife,” said 
I, “cannot wholly arise from hatred. There is probably some oth- 
er woman with whom he is anxious to be united 

“That is very, very likely,” answered Farrell, “ and the second 
letter he always receives along with the one from his wife may serve 
as an affirmative answer to your conjecture. Well ! he is one of the 
most open-hearted honourable fellows I ever met ; and I don’t care 
how soon his hopes are realized. Because a man has been foolish a 
little in his youth, is no reason why he should always be punished 
for it.” 

Our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Foster him- 
self — who appeared in a high state of pleasant excitement. 

“ Come on, Farrell !” cried he, “ let us go to the tent, and settle 
up. It is all over with the old lady ; and I start for home by day- 
break to-morrow morning.” 

Farrell bade me good-night and Foster who did not expect to see 
me again, shook hands at parting — bidding me a final good bye. 

There was much in the expression of Foster’s countenance that I 
did not admire ; and, notwithstanding, the apparent openness of his 
speech, I could not help thinking him a fellow not only without good 
feeling, but hypocritical, and treacherous. 

Farrell purchased his mule, and also his share of the mining tools ; 
and by break of day the next morning, Foster was on his way to 
San Francisco. 

The post-master of Sonora was annoyed by him no more ; and 
Farrell was left to regret the loss of his plain-speaking partner. 


0&« Tli£ AUVKM TURKS OF A ROLLING STONE. 


121 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A BULL AND BEAR FIGHT. 

One Sunday afternoon, seeking for amusement, I walked into Sono. 
ra ; and, following a crowd, I reached the “ Plaza de Toros.” 

The proprietor of this place had gone to a great expense, to get 
up a grand entertainment for that day. 

A large grizzly bear had been caught alive in the mountains — > 
about twenty miles from the town — and, at great trouble and ex* 
pense, had been transported in a strong cage to Sonora — to afford 
amusement to the citizens of that lively little city. 

To bring the bear from his native wilds, had required the labor 
of a large party of men ; and several days had been spent in the 
transport. A road had to be made most part the way — of suffi- 
cient width to permit the passage of the waggon that carried the 
cage. Bridges had also to be throwm over streams and de6p ra- 
vines ; and the bear was not securely landed in Sonora, until after 
he had cost the proprietor of the Bull-ring about eleven hundred 
dollars. 

Several savage bulls had also been provided for the day’s sport ; 
and the inhabitants of the town, and its vicinity, were promised 
one of the most splendid, as well as exciting entertainments, ever 
g(it up in California. 

I had before that time witnessed two or three Spanish bull fights ; 
aid had formed a resolution never to see another. But the tempt- 
al ion in this case — being a bull and bear fight — was too strong to 
b I resisted : and I paid two dollars — like many others as foolish 
a) myself — for a ticket ; and, armed with this, entered^ the amphi 
theatre. 

The Plaza de Toros was a circular enclosure with benches — on 


122 


i.OST LENORi ; 


which about two thousand people could be comfortably seated ; 
but, before the performance had commenced, the place contained 
three thousand or more. The first performance was an ordinary 
Spanish bull-fight ; and excited but little interest. The bull was 
soon killed, and dragged out of the arena. 

After a short interval, a second bull made his bow to the spec- 
tators. The instant this one showed himself, everybody predicted 
an exciting scene : for the animal leaped into the arena, with a wild 
bellowing, and an expression of rage, that portended a very differ- 
ent spectacle, from that exhibited by his predecessor. 

The toreros appeared surprised — some of them even confounded 
— by the fierce, sudden and energetic spring, with which the bull 
charged into their midst. 

A matador standing alone, in the arena, is in but little danger — 
even w'hen pursued by the fiercest bull. It is when three or four 
of the toreros are in the ring together — getting in one another’s 
way while turning to avoid his horns — that the bull has the advan- 
tage over his adversaries. At such times, the bull-fighter runs a 
great risk of getting badly gored, or even killed outright. 

The latter misfortune happened to one of the men, on the occa- 
sion in question. The second bull that had promised such a savage 
exhibition of his fierce strength, did not disappoint the spectators. 
In the third or fourth charge which he made among the matadors, 
he succeeded in impaling one of their num^ber upon his horns. The 
body of the unfortunate man was lifted clear up from the ground, 
and carried twice round the ring — before the bull thus bearing him 
could be despatched. 

Of course, the man was dead ; and had been so, long before be- 
ing taken off the animal’s horns. His heart’s blood could be seen 
running in a thick stream down the shaggy forehead of the bull, and 
dripping from his nose, as he carried the inanimate form round the 
arena ! 

The dead bodies of both man and animal were taken out of the 
place together, and on the same cart ; the only interval allowed to 
elapse between the sports, was the short half hour necessary to 
making preparation for the grand spectacle of the day — the fight 
between the bear and a bull ! 

The cage containing the grizzly was drawn into the ring by a 
span of horses — which were at once taken away ; and then a small 
and not a very formidable “ tore,” was led into the arena by MTcr^ 
al men, who guided him with their long lazos. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 


123 


The appearance of this bull was disappointing to the spectators, 
who fancied that a much larger animal should have been chosen to 
encounter the savage monster of the mountains. The explanation 
was conjectured by all. The bear was worth over one thousand 
dollars, while, the bull cost only twenty-five ; and from this dispar- 
ity in price, it was evident that the owner of both wished to give 
grizzly the advantage in the fight. 

This was made certain, by the proprietor himself coming forward 
with the unexpected proposal ; that before commencing the fight, 
the bull should have the tips shaved off from his horns ! “ This,’^ 

he said, “ would hinder the bear from receiving any serious injury ; 
and it could be exhibited in a fight on some other Sunday.” 

But the spectators wanted to see a good fight on this Sunday, and 
a fair fight as well. They did not wish to see the poor bull depriv- 
ed of his natural means of protecting himself ; and then torn to 
pieces by the claws of the favored bear. 

The master of the amphitheatre was about to carry out his econ 
omic project — when a scene ensued that beggars all description. It 
ended in the bull being allowed to retain the tips of his horns. 

The action now commenced. The hind leg of the bear was pull* 
ed out of the cage door — which was partially opened for the pur- 
pose. The leg was made fast, by a strong log chain, to a stake 
that had been driven deep into the ground near the centre of the 
arena. The door was then thrown wide open ; but, notwithstanding 
this apparent chance of recovering his liberty, the bear refused to 
take advantage of it. 

A rope was then made fast to the back of the cage, and attached 
to a horse standing outside the enclosure. By this means, the cage 
was dragged away from the bear, instead of the bear being ab- 
stracted from the cage — leaving the animal uncovered in the centre 
of the arena. The lazos were next loosed off from the horns of the 
bull : and the two combatants were left in possession of the ground 
at liberty to exercise their savage prowess upon each other. 

The bull on regaining his feet, rolled its eyes about, in search of 
something on which he might take revenge, for the unseemly way 
in which he had just been treated. The only thing he could con- 
veniently encounter was the bear ; and, lowering his muzzle to the 
ground, he charged straight towards the latter. 

Bruin met the attack by clewing himself into a round ball. In 
this peculiar shape he was tossed about by the bull, without sus- 
taining any great injury. After he had been rolled over two or 


124 


LOST LENORE ; 


three times, he suddenly enclewed himself ; and, springing upward 
seized the bull’s head between his fore paws. 

So firm was his grip, that the poor bull could neither advance 
nor retreat — nor even make movement in any direction. It ap- 
peared as if it could only stand still, and bellow. 

To make the grizzly let go his hold — in order that the fight 
might proceed with more spirit — a man, in the employ of the pro- 
prietor, entered the arena with a bucket of water — which he threw 
over the bear. The latter instantly relinquished his hold of the 
bull ; and, rapidly extending one of his huge paws, seized hold of 
the servant who had douched him ; and, with a jerk, drew the man 
under his body. 

Having accomplished this feat, he was proceeding to tear the un 
fortunate man to pieces ; and had squatted over him with this inten- 
tion, when a perfect volley of revolvers — in all about two hundred 
shots — were fired at his body. The bear was killed instantly; 
though strange to say, his death was caused by a single bullet, out 
of all the shots that had nit him ; and there were more than a hun- 
dred that had been truly aimed ! The only wound, that could have 
proved fatal to such a monster, was a shot that had entered one of 
his ears, and penetrated to the brain. Many balls were afterwards 
found flattened against the animal’s skull, and his skin was literally 
peppered ; but, though the man, at the time the shots were fired, 
was clutching the bear’s throat with both hands, he was not touched 
by a single bullet ! 

There were two circumstances connected with this affair, that, 
happening in any other land but California, would have been very 
extraordinary. One was, the simultaneous discharge of so many 
shots, at the moment when the bear was seen to have the man in 
his power. It might have been supposed, that the spectators had 
been anticipating such an event, and were ready with their revolv- 
ers ; for the bear’s seizing the man, seemed a preconcerted signal 
for them to fire. 

Another remarkable circumstance was, that, although the dis- 
charge of the many pistols was sudden and unexpected, and pro- 
ceeded from every point round the circle of the amphitheatre — 
where thousands of people were crowded together — no one but the 
bear was injured by the shots ! 

It was a striking illustration of some peculiarities in the charac- 
ter of the energetic self-relying men of tbe world, that then peopled 
California. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 125 

In the “ Plaza de Toros ” — witnesses of the scenes I have attempted 
to describe — even many young girls belonging to the place ; as 
well as others, from Mexico, Chili, and Peru. During the contin- 
uance of that series of exciting scenes : which included the killing 
of one person by empalement upon a bull, the mutilation of anoth- 
er by the claws of a grizzly bear, and the destruction of the bear 
itself, by a volley of revolvers — these interesting damsels never al- 
lowed the lights of their cigarritos to become extinguished ; but 
Calmly smoked on, as tranquil and unconcerned, as if they h,ad been 
Jissisting at the oeremony of a ‘‘ fandango !” 


126 


LOST LENORB* 


CHAPTER XXVL 

stormy’s autobiography. 

Ilf my rambles about Sonora and its vicinity, when seeking amuse’ 
ment on what is called the “ first day of the week,” I was general- 
ly accompanied by Stormy Jack. 

During my early acquaintance with the old sailor, I was too 
young to have formed a correct opinion of his character ; and my 
respect for him, w'as based entirely upon instinct. 

Now that I was older, and possessed of a more mature judgment, 
that respect — instead of having diminished : had increased to such 
a degree, as to deserve the name of admiration. I could not help 
admiring his many good qualities. He loved truth ; and spoke it 
whenever he said anything. He was frank, honest, sociable, and 
generous. He had on abhorrence of all that was mean : combined 
with a genuine love for fair play and even-handed justice of every 
kind. He was in the habit of expressing his opinions so frankly, 
that, on the slightest acquaintance, every honest man became his 
friend, and every dishonest one his enemy. 

Stormy was, in truth, one of nature’s noblemen-- -such a one as is 
seldom met with, and never forgotten. He was instinctively a gen- 
tleman ; and the many long years in which he had been associated, 
with those who are thought to be lowest in the scale of civilization, 
had not overcome his natural inclination. 

Stormy was strong on all points but one ; and that was, in the 
resisting his appetite for strong drink. To this he too often yielded. 
“ Do not think, Rowley,” said he one evening, when 1 chanced to 
allude to this subject, “ that 1 can’t keep from drinking, if I tried. — 
I never drank when I was young ; for I had some hope and ambi- 
tion then ; and I could see the silliness of giving way to such a hab- 
it. It is only since I have become old Stormy Jack, and too old 


OR, THB ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE- 127 

for my bad habits to be of any consequence to myself, or any one 
else. No, Rowley; it don’t signify much now, how often I get 
drunk — either in my mind or legs. When I was young, like you, 
1 had no one to teach me manners — except the world ; and it did 
larn me some. Wherever I went, every one appeared to think it 
was their business to teach me manners ; and the way they went 
about it, was not always very gentle. I’ve seen hard times in this 
world, Rowley, my lad.” 

“ 1 have no doubt of it. Stormy,” said I, for you have that ap^ 
pearance. You look as though, man, fate, and time had all used 
you roughly.” 

“ And so they have. I’ve nobody to thank for anything ; unless 
it is the Almighty, for having given me strength to out-live what 
I have passed through ; and I’m not sartin that I should be thankful 
for that. If you like, Rowley, I’ll tell you something of my his- 
tory ; and it’ll give you an idea of the way the world has used 
me.” 

“ I should like it much,” 

Here goes then ! The first thing I can remember, is a father 
who used to get drunk in the legs ; and the second, a mother who 
would as often get drunk in the head. 

‘‘ As my father, when intoxicated, could not stand on his feet, nor 
move from the place in which he chanced to be, my mother would 
take advantage of his helplessness ; and used to teach him manners, 
in a way that always kept his countenance covered with scratches, 
cuts, and bruises. I may add, that she served myself in a very sim- 
ilar manner. If ever either my father, or I, were seen in the streets 
without a fresh wound on our faces, the neigbors knew that there 
was no money in the house, or anything that would be received at a 
pawn shop for so much as sixpence. The soundness of our skins 
would prove the scarcity of cash in my father’s establishment; or 
as they say here in Californy, that we were ‘ hard up.’ 

“ About the time I was thirteen years of age, my parents discov- 
ered that they could no longer maintain themselves, much less, me ; 
and they sought, and found, a home in the w-orkhouse — whither I 
was taken along with them. 

“ Both died in the workhouse the year after entering it ; and I 
was apprenticed, or I might say hired out, to a baker. 

“ In this situation, I had a world of work to do. I had to sit up 
all night, helping the journeymen to make the bread ; and then I 
had to go out for two or three hours every morning — with a heavy 


128 


LOST LENOBE ; 


basket of loaves on my head, to be delivered to the customers lir- 
ing here and there. In addition to this hard work, I was nearly 
starved. The only time I could get enough to eat, was when I wac 
•ut on my rounds with the bread ; when I could steal a little scrap 
from each loaf — in such a way that the morsel wouldn’t be missed. 

“ I’ve not yet told you, that my native place is London ; and il 
you know anything of that city, you may have some idea of the life 
I lived when a child, with two miserable, poor, and drunken pa- 
rents. 

“Well; I staid with the baker above two years ; and though I 
was nearly killed with hard work and want of food — as well as 
sleep — that, perhaps, was’nt the most unhappy part of my life. — 
There was a worse time in store for me. 

“ The baker and his wife, who owned and ill-treated me, had a lit- 
tle girl in the house — a slavey they had taken from the same work- 
house from which they had fetched me. This girl was’nt treated any 
better than I was ; and the only happy moments either o’ us ever 
had, were when we could be together, and freely express our opin- 
ions of our master and mistress — both of whom behaved equally 
bad to us — i5 anything, the woman the worst. The girl and 1 used 
to encourage each other with hopes of better times. • 

“ I had seen many little girls in the streets, dressed very fine, and 
looking clean, well-fed, and happy ; and some of them I thought very 
beautiful. But none of them appeared so beautiful, as the one who 
was being worked and starved to death in the same house with my- 
self — though her dress was nothing but a lot of dirty rags. 

“ By the time I had got to be sixteen years of age, I was too much 
of a man to stand the ill-usage of the baker and his wife any longer ; 
and I determined to run away. 

“ I did not like to leave behind me my companion in misery ; but 
as I thought, that, in a few weeks I should make a little fortune, and 
be able to find her a better home, we became reconciled to the idea 
of parting with one another. 

“ One morning I bade her good-bye ; and started off with the bas- 
ket of bread on my head to go my rounds. 

“ When I had nearly completed the delivery, and had left with 
different customers all but the last loaf, I set down the basket ; took 
this loaf under my arm ; and was free. 

“ I went straight to the docks to look out for something ; and be- 
fore the day was over, I found a situation aboard a schooner in the 
eaal trade — that was about to sail for Newcastle. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 139 

The skipper of this vessel was also its owner ; and himself and 
his family used it as their regular home. 

“ I was determined to please this man — not only by doing my 
duty, but as much more as I could. I succeeded in gaining his good 
will. 

“We went to Newcastle; took in a cargo ; and by the time we 
reached London again, the skipper would not have been willing to 
part with me, had I desired to leave him. When we got back to 
London, he gave me liberty to come ashore ; and made me a pres- 
ent of half-a-crown, to spend as I liked. 

“ It was the largest sum of money I had ever owned ; and, with 
it in my possession, I thought that the time when I might take my 
little fellow servant away from the hard life she was leading, could 
not be far away, I determined not to spend one penny of the money 
upon myself ; but to go ashore at once, and make a bold push to- 
wards getting the girl away from the place where she was staying. 

“I told the skipper all about her — what sort of a home I had left 
her in — and the cruelties she was still likely to be enduring. 

“ He talked to his wife ; and after they had asked me a good 
many questions : as to whether the girl was well-behaved, and used 
no bad language— -they told me that I might bring her aboard the 
vessel then lying in the river; and that she might look after the 
three children, and do anything else to make herself useful. 

“I started off on my errand, in better spirits than I had ever been 
in before. I was afraid to go near the baker’s house, for fear J 
should be seen from the shop and might have trouble in getting 
away again : for I had been regularly bound as his apprentice. So 
I watched the public-house — where 1 knew the girl would be sure to 
come tor the supper beer in the evening. 

“ After I had been looking out for about half an hour, she came, 
looking more beautifully, more ragged and dirty, than when I had 
last seen her, four weeks before. 

“ ‘ Come on, Ann !” I cried (Ann was her name.) ‘ Come on ! 
Fling away your jug, and follow me !” 

“ I ran up to her, while I was speaking. 

“ She dropped the jug — not because I had told her to do so — but 
from the excitement of her surprise at seeing me. It fell out of her 
hands oh the pavement ; and was broken to pieces. 

“ ‘ Follow me,’ said I, * I’ve another home for you.” 

“ She gave one glance at the broken jug ; and probably thought 
of her mistress, and the beating she would be sure to get, should 


130 


LOST LBlfORS; 


she go home without the jug and the supper beer. That thought 
decided her. She then took my hand ; and we started off towards 
the river. 

“ 1 am going to cut my story short,” said Stormy, alter a pause 
— during which he seemed to suffer from some painful reflection. 
“ For nine years I worked for that girl. Part of the time I was 
getting good wages — as the second mate of a large ship, running to 
Charleston, in the United States ; and all of my money was spent 
in keeping Ann in a good home, and in having her taught to read 
and write, and behave herself like a lady. 

‘‘ To deny myself every comfort, for the sake of saving money 
for her, was my greatest pleasure. I have often crossed the Atlan- 
tic without proper clothing ; so that Ann might be placed beyond 
the danger, of want, while I was gone. 

“ During these nine years, I drank no grog, nor liquor of any 
kind. I would not even take a glass at the expense of any of the 
messmates : because I would be expected to stand a glass in return ; 
and there was more pleasure in saving the money for Ann, than in 
spending it on what could only injure me. I have often walked the 
cold wet decks with my feet freezing for the want of a pair of 
socks and good boots — because these things would cost money ; and 
all that I could make I wished to spend only for the benefit of Ann, 
who was always in my thoughts — the idol of ray soul. 

“ While making my voyage across the Atlantic, I got some of 
my companions to learn me to read and write a little. I worked 
very hard at this, when I could find time. There were two reasons 
for my wishing to be able to write • the first, because I had some 
desire to learn on my own account ; and the other reason was, that 
when I should marry Ann, I did not wish her to have a husband 
who could not write his own name. 

“ When I got to be twenty-three years of age, I began to think 
of getting married. I was earning good wages; and had saved 
enough money to furnish a little house for Ann. Just about that 
time, however, I noticed she had begun to treat me with a little 
coldness. I had been so very saving of my money, that I always 
went rather shabbily dressed ; and 1 at first thought that she might 
be a little ashamed of my appearance. I knew that this would not 
be right on her part; but I also knew that women have got vanity ; 
and that they cannot hejp a feeling of that kind. I could not think 
that it was possible for Ann not to love me — after the many sacri- 
fices I had made for her — for I deserved her love, and had fairly 


OR, THB ADTBNTUREB OF A ROLUNO 8TONK. ISl 

earned it. I thought that if there was a man worthy of being loved 
by her, and having her for his wife, I was that man ; for 1 had done 
all that I was able to gain her good will ; and no one can do more. 
I was under the belief, too, that she loved me : for she had many a 
time told me so. You may imagine, then, how I was taken aback, 
when one time that I returned from a voyage to give her all the 
money I had earned, I found that she treated me very coldly ; and 
that every day she grew colder and colder, and seemed as if she 
only wanted to get clear of my company.” 

At this interesting crisis of his story, Stormy was interrupted 
by the entrance of two of our mining neighbors ; who came into 
our tent to have a quiet game at ** uker” along with us. 


132 


LOST lenore; 


CHAPTER XXVn. 

ANir. 

I HAD been much interested in Stormy’s story of his early life ; and 
the next evening, I went over to his tent, and taking a seat upon the 
ground, requested him to continue it. 

“ All right, Rowley, my boy,” said he, in answer to my appeal 
“ I believe that 1 left off last night, where the girl, after my having 
worked nine years for her, had begun to treat me with coldness. 

Well, on becoming sure o’ this, I determined to find out th# 
reason. I knew there must be something wrong ; and I made uf 
my mind to find out what it was — though it might lead to tlx 
breaking up of all my fine prospects. One day, when my ship w;»j 
about to start on a new trip to Charleston, I settled scores with thi 
captain, and left her. Ann was under the belief, that I had gon* 
off in the vessel ; but she was mistaken. I had stopped behind, t- 
keep an eye on herself. A few months before, I had given he 
some money — to enable her to go in partnership with a widow, h 
keeping a little stationary and toy shop — and she was now in tha 
business. My scheme was to keep an eye on the shop; and se 
what was going on. I had not been very long playing spy, befor 
I found out the lay of the land. A young fellow of a swellish ap 
pearance, used to pay visits to the shop, nearly every day of tb 
week. He came in the evening; and Ann would go out with hii> 
to theatres and dancing places. 

“ I watched the fellow to his home, or to his lodgings — for K 
lived in a two pair back ; and from there I tracked him to his plao 
of business. I found that he was what in London is called a ‘ clerk. 
He was a thing unworthy of Ann ; but, of course, that being th 
case, he did not know it ; and I could see from his vain looks tha 
he thought sufficiently of himself— to much to marry Ann. Frox 
what I saw, I had no doubt that he was deceiving her. 


OE, THE ADVENTURES OF A EOLUNQ STONE. 133 

** I scarce knew what to do ; for there was no use in telling the 
girl that she was being deceived. She would not have believed 
me. 

“ If she had believed me, and given the puppy up, it would not 
have made much difference to me. My confidence in her was gone. 
I could have had it no more. She had acted ungrateful to me — by 
giving her preference to a conceited swell — who took her about to 
places of amusement, where men do not take young girls, whom 
they intend afterward to marry. Ann had proved herself unwor- 
thy of a love like mine. I had toiled for her, for nine long years ; 
and this was the return. 

“ My good resolution all forsook me — by the shock which her 
ingratitude gave me ; and ever since thafr time. I’ve been only 
Stormy Jack, and nothing more. You know what he is.” Stormy 
once more relapsed into silence, as if his story had been concluded. 
More deeply interested than ever, I desired to know more. In 
answer, to my request, he resumed his narrative. 

“Well,” continued he. “My next voyage was a long one. I 
made the trip to India, and was gone fourteen months ; but on my 
return, at the end of that time, I had not forgotten Ann. I still 
loved her — although I knew that she could never be my wife. 
Even had she consented, my pride would not allow of my marry- 
ing her now. 

“ When 1 got back from India, I went to the little shop to enquire 
for her. She was no longer there. I found her in the work-house 
— the same from which she had been taken when a child. She 
was the mother of a child, seven months old ; and had never been 
married. I determined to teach her manners. You may think it 
strange, Rowley, but I was now, more than ever, resolved she 
should love me. It would be some satisfaction for what I had 
suffered on her account. I knew my motive wasn’t altogether as it 
ought to have been, but I could not help doing as I did. 

“ When paid the wages, owing me by the East Indiaman, I had 
about twenty-five pounds to the good ; and, with this money, I took 
Ann out of the workhouse, and placed her in a comfortable home. 

I acted, to all appearance, as kindly to her, and seemed as affection- 
ate as 1 had ever been ; and I even gave her more of my company 
than I had ever done before. When she came to contrast my con- 
duct with that of the heartless villain who had ruined and deserted 
her, she could not help loving me. On her knees, and with tears 
in her eyes, she confessed her folly, and sorrow for the past ; and 
prayed for me to forgive her. 


).08T LBKORX ; 


lU 

“ ‘ Of course, I forgive you, Ann,” said I, ^ or I would not hare 
returned to you.” 

“ ‘ And will you love me as much as you once did V she then 
asked. 

“ ‘ Certainly 1 will.* 

“ ‘ John,* she said, * you are the most noble-minded man in the 
w'orld ; and I only begin to know your real worth. Oh ! what a 
fool I have been, not to have known it before ! You are better than 
all other men on the earth !* 

“ Ann had got over the folly of her girlhood. The sorrows 
which she had suffered during the last few months, had taught her 
wisdom, and brought repentance ; and she now believed, that such 
love as 1 had offered her was of son^ value. 

“ 1 visited her every day ; and appeared to take such an interest 
in her w'elfare, both of herself and her child, that I, at length, be- 
came certain that she loved me. She could not have helped it, had 
she tried. Poor girl ! she fancied she was going to be happy again j 
but she was mistaken. 

“ When my money was all spent, I prepared to take leave of her. 
Before going, I told her the truth ; that I had loved her, ever since 
she was a child ; and that I ever would ; but that I could never 
make her my wife. After what had transpired, I could never be 
happy as her husband. 

“ I shall never forget you, Ann,* said I. ‘ Whenever I havo a 
pound in my pocket, you are welcome to fifteen shillings of it ; but 
my happiness, for this world, you have entirely destroyed ; and I 
can never marry you, as I once intended to do. You know the 
many years that I toiled for you ; and was not that proof that I 
loved you dearly 1 All that I have done, I am willing to do again ; 
but what I have hoped to do, is no longer possible. You have not 
proved w^orthy of my love, and can never be my wife.* 

“ As I said this, she was nearly distracted ; and declared that 
she would never accept another shilling from me. She promised 
to do for me all that I had done for her : to work for me, and let 
me live in idleness, 1 had at last succeeded in winning her love. 

“ Perhaps I was wrong in having done so ; but the manner in 
which I had been myself wronged, rendered me incapable of acting 
honest. I could not help taking this way to larn her a little man- 
ners. There was another I intended laming a lesson to, before 1 
left London ; but I determined to teach him in a very different 
way. It was the swell that had ruined Ann. 

“ I looked out for him ; and found him in the street ; on the way 


OR, THE ADYENTURRS OP A ROLLING STONE. 


136 


TO his place of business. I laid one o’ my flippers on his shoulder, 
to keep him from escaping, while I gave him his lesson with the 
other. 1 flattened his nose ; nearly tore off one of his ears ; and 
did him some other damage besides. The police pulled me off o’ 
him ; and I was taken away to the station, and next day brought 
before a magistrate. 

“ 1 only got two months for giving the conceited snob his lesson ; 
which 1 didn’t much regret, for 1 was just as well off in the gaol as 
anywhere else. My time or my liberty w^as worth nothing more 
to me. When again set free, 1 made another voyage to India, and 
got back in fourteen months. 

“ When I returned, Ann was dead. She had died in the same 
work-house, in which she was born. 

“ Since then, there has been no particular reason why I should 
behave myself ; and I have been, as you see me, old Stormy Jack. 
I never again thought of getting married. I could only love but 
one ; and that one it was not my fate to be spliced to. I suppose 
it was never intended 1 should get married. At all events, 1 don’t 
mean to try. I made one girl miserable by not marrying her ; and 
I r ■ * ' make another miserable if I did.” 



this hypothetical reflection, Stormy oonoloded hia mfi 




LOST LENORI * 


13d 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A STRANGE SUMMONS FROM STORMY. 

As already stated, I had left the northern diggings with the design 
of going to the Tuolumne river ; and that on my way to the latter 
place I had met Guinane — who had induced me to relinquish my 
design, and stop awhile on the Stanislaus. 

Now that Guinane was gone, and the claim in which we had been 
partners worked out, there was nothing to hinder me from carrying 
out my original intention ; and I resolved, to leave the Stanislaus^ 
diggings, and proceed onward to the Tuolumne. 

Stormy Jack, who stayed behind, promised to join me, as soon 
as he should have worked out his claim on the Stanislaus — which 
he expected to do in about three weeks. 

On reaching the Tuolumne, I proceeded to Jacksonville — a little 
mining village ; where, after looking about a couple of days, I 
purchased two shares in a claim that lay upon the bank of the 
river. 

Not liking the sort of work required to be done on this claim — 
which was wet — I employed men to work it for me. I could afford 
to do this : for, having toiled hard ever since my arrival in the dig- 
gings, and not having been either unsuccessful or extravagant, 1 had 
begun to believe that Lenore might yet be mine. The brighter 
this hope became, the more value did I set on my life ; and was 
therefore careful not to endanger my health by working in a “ wet 
claim.” 

Another change had taken place in my domestic arrangements. 
I no longer lived in a miner’s tent ; nor did I continue to act as my 
own cook and washerwoman. I was worth several hundred pounds ; 
and began to have a better opinion of myself than ever before. So 
proud was I of possessing such a sum of money, that had I been in 
Liverpool at that time, 1 should not have hesitated to talk of love 
to Lenore. 

The life of most gold diggers is wretched beyond belief. The 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OT A ROLLING STONE. 


187 


inconveniences and hardships they endure are but poorly repaid, 
by their freedom from the irksome regulations and restraints of 
more civilized life. I have seen miners eating bread that had been 
kneaded in a hat, and baked in the hot ashes of their camp fire ! 1 
have seen them suffering many hardships — even hunger itself — at 
the very time they were encumbered with ponderous bags of gold ! 

In the days when gold digging was romantic and fashionable, I 
have seen learned lawyers, skilled physicians, and eloquent divines 
— who had been seduced by the charms of a miner’s life — passing 
the Sabbath day at the washtub, or seated outside their tents, 
needle in hand, stitching the torn seams of their ragged and scanty 
clothing. I had myself been following this rude manner of life, 
ever since my arrival at the diggings ; but it had now lost its charms 
and after reaching the Tuolumne, 1 took up my residence in a 
French boarding-house. 

My two shares in the claim I had purchased soon began to yield 
a rich return ; so that I was able to purchase several more, and also 
employ more men in working them. 

One day, I received a visit from Stormy Jack ; who had come 
over from the Stanislaus, as he said, “ to take bearings before sail- 
ing out from Sonora.” 

He saw how comfortably I was living in Jacksonville ; and that 
I was making money without much hard work. 

‘‘ I’ll come and live like you,” said he, “ for I am getting too 
rich myself to go on as I’ve been doing. I won’t stand hard work 
any longer.” 

After spending the day with me, he returned to Sonora — with 
the intention of selling out his claims on the Stanislaus, and coming 
to reside at Jacksonville. 

The day after he had gone away — which chanced to be on Satur- 
day — at a late hour of the evening, I received a letter from him. 
He had written that morning, and sent it to me by a shopkeeper 
who chanced to be returning to Jacksonville. So badly was the letter 
written, that I was occupied all the rest of the evening deciphering 
it ; but after spending much time, patience, and ingenuity upon the 
epistle, I arrived at a tolerable understanding of the intelligence it 
was intended to convey. 

Stormy commenced by stating, that I must excuse all faults : for 
it was the first letter he had written for a period of more than thirty 
years. In fact, all correspondence of an epistolary kind on Stormy’s 
part had been discontinued on the death of Ann ! 


1^8 


LOST LSNORS ; 


1 was then informed, in the old sailor’s characteristio fiishion, 
that a murder had just been committed on the Stani. A woman 
had been killed by her husband ; and the husband had been sum- 
marily tried, and found guilty of the crime. 

The next day, at noon, the miners was going to teach the murder- 
er “ manners,” by hanging him to a tree. I was advised to come 
over, and be a spectator of the lesson — for the reason that Stormy 
believed we had both seen the guilty man before. Stormy was 
not sure about this. The murderer bore a name, that he had never 
heard me make use of ; but a name was nothing. ** I’ve a bit of a 
fancy in my head,” wrote Stormy, “that I have seen the man 
many years ago ; and that you will know who he is — though I can’t 
be sartain. So come and see for yourself. I’ll expect you to be at 
my tent, by eleven o’clock in the mornin’.” 

Who could the murderer be, that / should know him ? Could 
Stormy be mistaken? Had he been drinking; and this time 
become affected in the brain instead of the legs ? 

I could hardly think it was drink. He would not have taken the 
trouble to write, his first epistle in thirty years, without some 
weighty reason. 

I went to see the store-keeper who had brought the letter. From 
him I learnt that a murder had been committed by a man from 
Sydney, and that the murderer was to be hung on the following day. 

As I continued to reflect on the information I thus received, a 
horrid thought came into my mind. Could the murderer be Mr. 
Leary ? Could his victim have been my mother ? 

There was a time when this thought would have produced on me 
a different effect from what it did then ; a time when, such a sus- 
picion would have caused me to spring to my feet and instantane- 
ously take the road to Sonora. 

h did not then. I now felt less interest in the mystery I had so 
long been endeavouring to solve. Time, with the experience it 
brought, had rendered me less impulsive, if not less firm in purpose. 
I could not, however, sleep upon the suspicion ; and after passing 
a wretched night, I was up before the sun. 

Sonora was about thirteen miles distant from the Tuolumne 
diggings. It would be a pleasant morning walk ; and I determined 
to go afoot. The exercise would only give me an appetite — so that 
I should enjoy my breakfast after reaching the Stanislaus. I could 
take plenty of time on the way, and still be there by nine o’clock 
- — two hours sooner than Stormy expected me. 


OR, THE ADVSNTUREB OF A ROLLING STONE. 


139 


I started along the road — meditating as I walked onward, what 
course I should pursue, supposing the murderer should turn out to 
be Leary, and supposing the murdered woman to be my mother ! 

Mr. Leary was the husband of my mother. He was my step- 
father. Should I allow him to be hung ? 

Such thoughts coursed rapidly through my mind, as 1 proceeded 
along the solitary path. I could not check them by the reflection 
that, after all, the man might not be Mr. Leary. Why I had 
thought of him at all, was because I could think of no other man 
that Stormy and I had both known before — at least, none who was 
likely to have committed a murder. But my correspondent might 
still be mistaken ; and the condemned criminal be a stranger to 
both of us ? 

When 1 had walked about a mile along the main road to Sonora 
I left it — knowing that I could make a shorter cut by a path, lead- 
ing over the ridge that separates the valleys of the Stanislaus and 
Tuolumne. 

I had got, as I supposed, about half way to Sonora ; and was 
passing near a chapperal thicket, when a large grizzly bear rushed 
out of the bushes, and advanced straight towards me. 

Fortunately a large live oak-tree was growing near, with limbs 
that extended horizontally. I had just time to climb up among 
the branches. A second more, and I should have been grasped by 
the grizzly. Unlike his congener the brown bear, the grizzly can- 
not climb a tree, and knowing this I fancied myself safe. 

Taking a seat on one of the limbs of the live oak, I proceeded 
to contemplate the interesting position in which I was placed. The 
bear had a brace of cubs playing in the chapperal near by. I could 
hear them sniffing and growling ; and soon after got sight of them, 
engaged in their uncouth, bearish frolics. It would have been pleas- 
ant enough to watch these creatures ; but the prospect of how I 
was to regain my liberty soon became the sole subject of my 
thoughts — by no means a pleasant one. 

I saw that, the bear was not inclined to leave the tree, while her 
interesting family was so near. That seemed certain. The chance 
of any person passing, near that lonely place, was one against a 
hundred. The path was very little used, and only by an occasional 
pedestrian like myself. 

To ensure the safety of her offspring, the bear might keep me up 
that tree until her cubs had arrived at the age of discretion, and be 


140 


LOST lenorh; 


able to take care of themselves. Under the circumstances, I could 
not subsist so long. 

Always having allowed myself to believe, that a civil tongue, a 
good bowie-knife, and the sense to mind my own business, were a 
much better protection than fire-arms, I seldom carried a revolver 
— as most people in California, at that time, were in the habit of 
doing. I now found need of the weapon, when I had it not. 

I was not, however, wholly unprovided with what might console 
me in my dilemma : for I had some good cigars and a flask of brandy 
— that happened to have been put into my pocket the night before. 
To aid me in calculating the chances of regaining my liberty, 1 teok 
i pull at the flask, and then lighted a cigar. 


Oft, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


14l 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

A GRIZZLY ON FIRE. 

Durin» all this time, the bear had been energetically trying to pull 
down, or eat up, the tree ; and I only felt secure when I saw that 
she had not the ability to do either. 

But the business upon which I was bound to Sonora now came 
before my mind. It seemed to have become greatly magnified in 
importance ; so much so, that 1 began to fancy, that all my hopes for 
the future depended on my finding Stormy Jack before twelve 
o’clock. Time was rapidly passing, without my making any pro- 
gress towards the place of appointment. 

“ What shall I do ?” was the thought that seemed to run like hot 
lead through my skull. 

The excited state I was in hindered the enjoyment I usually have 
in smoking a good cigar ; and the fire of the one 1 had lit soon be- 
came extinguished. 

Imbued with the belief that smoking tranquillizes an agitated 
mind, and brings it to a fitter state for contemplation, I relighted 
the cigar. 

1 knew from the implacable disposition of the grizzly bear, that 
the old she that besieged me was not likely to leave the tree so 
long as I was in it; and the length of my captivity would probably 
depend on which of us could longest resist the demands of hunger. 

My cigars — unlike some that I have often been compelled to 
smoke — could not be used as substitute for food: since they were 
composed neither of turnip tops nor cabbage leaves. 

The day was intensely hot ; and I had grown thirsty— a sensation 
that brandy would not remove. The longer I kept my perch, the, 
more my impatience pained me; indeed, life seemed not won li 
possessing, unless I met Stormy at the time he had appointed. I 
felt the terrible exigency ; but could not think of a way to respond 


142 


LOST LKNORK ; 


to it. There was every probability of the next day finding me no 
nearer Sonora, but much nearer death, than 1 was then. The 
agony of thirst — which the feverish anxiety caused by my forlorn 
condition each moment increased — would of itself make an end ox 
me. 

The idea of descending from the tree, and fighting the bear wit// 
my bowie knife, was too absurd to be entertained for a moment. 
To do so would be to court instant death. 

1 have already stated that at the time of which I write, Califor- 
nia was disgraced by such spectacles as combats between a grizzly 
bear and a bull. 

1 had witnessed three such exhibitions ; and the manner in which 
I had seen one of the former knock down and lacerate a bull with a 
single blow of its paw, was enough to make me cautious about 
giving the old she an opportunity of exhibiting her prowess upon 
myself. 

The remembrance of such scenes was enough to have made me 
surrender myself to positive despair. 1 had not, however, quite 
come to that. 

A scheme for regaining my liberty at length suggested itself ; 
and I believe it was through smoking the cigar that the happy idea 
occurred to me. 

To the branch on which I was sitting was attached a tuft of a 
singular parasitive plant. It was a species of ** Spanish moss,” or, 
“old man’s beard,” so called, from the resemblance of its long 
white filamentary leaves to the hairs of a venerable pair of whiskers. 

The plant itself had long since perished, as 1 could tell from its 
withered appearance. Its long filaments hung from the limbs, crisp 
and dry as curled horse-hair. 

Reaching towards it, I collected a quantity of the thread-like 
leaves, and placed them so that I could conveniently lay hands up. 
on them when wanted. 

My next move was to take out the stopper of my brandy flask — 
which done, I turned the flask upside down, and spilled nearly the 
whole of its contents upon the back of the l3ear. What was left I 
employed to give a slight moistening to the bunch of Spanish moss. 

I now drew forth my lucifers — when, to my chagrin, I saw that 
there was but one match left in the box ! 

What if it should miss Are, or even if igniting, I should fail with 
it to light the dry leaves ? 

I trembled as I dwelt upon the possibility of a failure. Perhaps 
my life depended upon the striking of that one match ? I felt the 


OB, THB ADYBBTURBS OF A ROLLINQ STONE. l48 

necessity of being careful. A slight shaking of the hand would 
frustrate my well-contrived scheme. 

Cautiously did I draw the match over the steel filings on the 
box ; too ctmt'oMsly : for no crackling accompanied the friction. 

1 tried again ; but this time, to my horror, 1 saw the little dump 
of phosphorus that should have blazed up, break from the end of 
the stick, and fall to the bottom of the tree ! 

1 came very near falling myself ; for the bright hope that had il- 
lumined my mind was now extinguished ; and the darkness of des- 
pondency once more set over my soul. 

Soon, however, a new idea came into my miud — restoring my 
hopes as suddenly as they had departed. There was fire in the 
stump of the cigar still stricking between my lips. 

The match was yet in my hand ; and I saw that there remained 
upon it a portion of the phosphoric compound. 

I applied its point to the coal of the cigar ; and had the gratifica- 
tion of beholding it blaze upwards. 

I now kindled the Spanish moss, which, saturated with the brandy, 
soon became a blaze ; and this strange torch I at once dropped on 
the back of the bear. 

Just as I had expected, the brandy, with which I had wetted the 
shaggy coat of the bear, became instantly ignited into a whishing, 
spluttering flame, which seemed to envelope the whole body of the 
animal I 

But I was not allowed to have a long look at the conflagration 1 
had created ; for the moment the bear felt the singeing effects of the 
blaze, she broke away from the bottom of the tree, and retreated 
over the nearest ridge, roaring as she went like a tropical hurri- 
cane ! 

Never before had I beheld a living creature under such an ele- 
vated inspiration of fear. 

Her cries were soon answered by another grizzly, not far away ; 
and I knew that no time was to be squandered in making my escape 
from the place. 

I quickly descended from the tree ; and the distance I got over, 
in the succeeding ten minutes, was probably greater than I had 
ever done before in twice the time. 


14 ^ 


LOST lENORS: 


CHAPTER XXX. 

LYNCH V. LKART, 

I REACHED Stormy’s tent about ten o’clock ; and found him waiting 
for me. I proposed proceeding at once to the gaol where the con 
demned man was kept. I was more impatient than my companion 
— impatient to see whether I might identify the criminal. 

“ Come on !” said I, “ we can talk and walk at the same time.” 

The old sailor followed me out of his tent, and then led the way 
without speaking. 

Storm along, Stormy,” cried I, “ Let me hear what you have 
to say.” 

“ It’s not much,” replied he ; ** Fm afraid I’ve been making a 
fool of myself, and you too. I saw the man yesterday, who’s going 
to be hung to-day. I fancied that he was the same as brought you 
aboad the ‘ Hope’ in Dublin Bay, when you first went to sea — he 
that you told me was your step-father — and who you promised to 
larn manners if ever you should come back, an find he had been 
misbehaving himself. Now it may be all my own fancy. That 
was so many years ago that I mightn’t remember ; but I couldn’t 
rest satisfied, without having you see him, for yourself.” 

1 told Stormy that he had acted right ; and that I hoped, and 
should be pleased, to find that he was mistaken. 

Stormy’s doubts had the effect of tranquilizing me a little. 1 
was now very hungry too ; and at the first restaurant in our way, 
1 went in, and ordered some breakfast ; which was eaten with an 
appetite I hoped never to have again — a hope that was no doubt 
shared by the proprietor of the restaurant. 

We then pursued our journey to the place where the prisoner 
was under guard. 

The prison was merely a public-house — around which a crowd 
of people were beginning to assemble. 

1 wished to see the prisoner ; but he was in an inside room, with 


OB, THB ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 145 

the men who guarded him ; and these were a little particular as to 
who was admitted into his presence. I had to wait, therefore, un- 
til he should be led out to exeeution. 

On finding that I could not be allowed to see the murderer — and 
as I was anxious to learn something immediately — I determined on 
taking a look at his victim. It would be easy to do this : as the 
house where the dead woman was lying was not far distant, from 
that which contained her murderer. 

Accompanied by Stormy, I walked over to the house ; and we 
were admitted into the room where the corpse was lying. The 
face of the murdered woman was concealed under a white cloth ; 
and while standing over the body, I was more strangely agitated 
than before. Should I, on removing that slight shrouding of cotton, 
behold the inanimate features of my mother ? 

The suspense was agonizingly interesting. The covering was at 
length removed ; and I breathed again. The body was not that of 
my mother ; but of a young woman apparantly about nineteen or 
twenty years of age. She had been a beautiful woman, and was 
still so — even in death ! 

Less tortured by my thoughts, I followed Stormy back to the 
public-house — around which the crowd had greatly increased : for 
it was now twelve o’clock, the hour appointed for the execution. 

My heart beat audibly, as the criminal was led forth, surrounded 
by his guards and attendants. 

Stormy was right. The murderer was Matthew Leary ! 

“ What shall 1 do 1” I inquired of Stormy, as we followed the 
criminal to the place of execution. 

“ You can do nothing,” answered Stormy. “ Let them teach 
him manners. If you interfere, you’ll be larnt some yourself.” 

There was truth in this. From the temper of the men, who had 
judged and condemned the murderer, it was evident 1 could do 
nothing to save him. Perhaps I did not contemplate trying. 

The prisoner was led from the public-house he had been kept in 
since his condemnation, to a live oak tree, growing on the top of a 
high hill, about half a mile from the town. Under this tree was a 
grave, that had been freshly dug. The murderer as he was con- 
ducted forward, must have seen the grave, and knew it to be his 
final resting-place. For all that, he approached the tree without 
any apparent emotion ! 

‘‘ He is either a very good man, or a very bad one said one by 
my side, “ he is going to die game !” 


146 


LOST lenore; 


A cart was drawn up under the live oak ; and into it climbed 
four or five respectable-looking men — who appeared to be taking a 
prominent part in the proceedings. 

One of them requested silence — a request which was immediate- 
ly complied with — and the man who made it, then addressed the 
assembly, in, as near as I can remember, the following words : — 

“ Gentlemen ! Before commencing to execute the painful duty, 
we hapye met to perform, I deem it necessary to give you a brief 
description of Ine circumstances, under which we are called upon to 
act. The prisoner before you — -John Matthews^ — has been tried by 
a jury of twelve men ; and found guilty of the murder of his wife 
— or a woman living with him as such. He has been defended by 
able counsel ; and the trial has been conducted with all the deco- 
rum and ceremony required by an occasion so solemn and impor- 
tant. It has appeared in evidence against the prisoner, that he was 
an habitual drunkard ; and that his principal means for indulging, 
in his unfortunate habits of dissipation, were derived from his wife 
— who supported herself, the prisoner, and their child, by working 
as a washer-woman. There has been full evidence brought before 
the jury, that, on the day the murder was committed, the prisoner 
came home drunk, and asked the woman for money. She told him 
that she had but three dollars in the house ; and that she wanted 
that to procure necessaries for her child — in fine, she refused to let 
him have it. The prisoner demanded the three dollars, and the 
woman still refused to give them np. After he had made a vain 
attempt to extort the money by threats, he went across the room, 
and procured a pistol, with which he unsuccessfully made an 
attempt to shoot her. Finding that the weapon was unloaded, he 
turned it in his hand, and struck the woman two heavy blows on 
the head with its butt. These blows were the cause of her death — ■ 
which occurred two hours afterwards. The man who committed 
this crime is now before you. As I do not wish to prejudice the 
mind of any one, I have simply stated what was proved on the 
trial ; and the question I now put is — what shall we do with 
him I” 

The speaker finished by putting on his hat ; which was as much 
as to say, that his part in the solemn ceremony was performed. 

The firm earnest voice, in which the address had been delivered, 
convinced me that the speaker, who had thus distinguished himself 
was actuated neither by prejudice nor passion. 

From the tenor of the speech he had delivered, I could tell that 


OR, TBS ADTENTURXS OF A ROLLDTO STOFR. 147 

Ihe criminars fate, to a certain extent, still depended on a vote of 
the crowd ; and in their decision I felt more interested, than even 
Mr. Leary appeared to be ! 

Another of the men in the cart now took off his hat ; and the 
murmuring noise once more subsided. 

“ Fellow citizens !” said this second speaker, I am not here either 
to apologize for, or sanction the crime this man has committed, t 
know, as well as any man present, the necessity that exists in a 
land like this, or, rather, in the state of society in which we live, 
for the severe punishment of crime. All I ask of you is, to let this 
man be punished by the laws of the country. A system of gov- 
ernment — of which you all approve — has lately been established 
among us ; and arrangements have been made for the trial and 
punishment of criminals. Do not take the law into your own 
hands. People living in the civilized communities of Europe and 
our own country are crying, ‘ Shame ! shame !’ at many transactions, 
similar to this, which have occurred in California ; and the same 
words will be uttered against the proceedings that are taking place 
here to-day. I am a magistrate ; and have with me a constable. I 
will pledge my life that if you will allow us to remove the prisoner 
he shall be brought before a jury and tried by the laws of our coun 
try I trust that no good citizen will make any objection to our tak 
ing that course with him.” 

The magistrate then put on his hat — as a signal that he had noth* 
ing more to say. 

The murmer of the crowd rose higher ; and there were heard 
many cries of dissent from what had been last said. 

** He’s had a fair trial — hang him !” exclaimed one. 

“ Hang him now, or he’ll escape !” vociferated another. 

There were also a few voices raised on the other side. “ Give 
him up ! Let the magistrate have him !” shouted these last. 

A man now stood up in the cart ; and called for a show of 
hands. 

All in tavour of delivering the prisoner into the custody of tbe 
law officers were requested to hold up their right hands. 

About twenty arms were extended into the air ! 

A number of these belonged to men who had the appearance of 
being what in California were called “ Sydney Ducks” — old con- 
victs from New South Wales ; but most of the hands raised were 
thosft of well-known gamblers — all of whom have an instinctive 
hornyr of Justice Lyno'i. 


>48 


LOST LENORB ; 


Those who were in favour of the prisoner being hung, then and 
therey were next invited to hold up their right hands. 

In an instant about three hundred arms were held aloft. All of 
them that I saw were terminated with strong, sinewy fists, stained 
only with toil, and belonging to miners — the most respectable por 
tion of the population. 

This silent, but emphatic, declaration was considered final. After 
it had been delivered, there commenced a scene of wild excitement. 

I rushed through the crowd, towards the tree under which the 
criminal stood. As I came up to him, I saw that a rope had been 
already noosed around his neck. 

A man was climbing into the live oak — for the purpose of pass- 
ing the rope over one of its branches. 

“ Stop !” I cried, “ stop for one minute ! Let me ask this man 
a question, before he dies.” 

Mr. Leary turned towards me with a stare of surprise ; and for 
the first time, since being brought upon the ground, did he appear 
to take any interest in what was passing ! 

“ I am the Rolling Stone,” I shouted to him ; “ Tell me, where 
is my mother ?” 

The murderer smiled, and such a smile ! It was the same fiend- 
ish expression he had thrown at me, when I last saw him in the 
boat in Dublin Bay. 

“ Tell me where I can find my mother !” 1 again asked, nearly 
frantic with rage. 

At this moment the slack end of the lazo, that had been passed 
over the branch and then slung back among the crowd, was instant- 
ly seized by a hundred hands. The condemned man seemed not to 
notice the movement, while, in answer to my. question, the malig- 
nant expression upon his features became stronger and deeper. 

“ Away !” I cried, scarcely conscious of what I said or did ; Away 
with him !” 

Those holding the rope sprang outward from the tree, and up 
rose Mr. Leary. 

A few faint kicks, and his body hung motionless from the limb 
of the live oak. 

An empty sardine box was nailed to the tree, on which the mui- 
ierer was hanging. Above it was pinned a piece of paper — on 
which were written the words, “ For the orphan.” 

Many miners stepped up to the spot, opened their purses ; and 
slipped a few dollars’ worth of gold dust into the box. 


OB, THE ADVEVTUBBS OF A ROLLING STONE. l4S 

Their example was followed by Stormy Jack; and from the 
quantity of yellow dust 1 saw him drop into the common recepta- 
cle, I could tell that his purse must have been three or four ounce# 
lighter, when he came away from the tree. 


150 


LUST LSNOftS : 


CHAPTER XXXL 

THE ORPHAN. 

Shortly after the termination of the melancholy drama, in which 1 
had taken so prominent a part, Stormy Jack and 1 went to see the 
child — now left without either father or mother. 

We found it in the keeping of a young married couple — who had 
lately arrived from Australia ; and who had there been acquainted 
with its unfortunate mother. 

They told us, that the murdered woman was the daughter of a 
respectable shopkeeper in Sydney ; that she had run away with Mr. 
Mathews — the name under which Leary had passed in Australia — 
and that her parents had been very unwilling she should have any- 
thing to do with him. 

She was an only daughter; and had left behind a father and 
mother sorely grieved at her misconduct. Everybody that knew 
her had thought her behaviour most singular. They could not com- 
prehend her infatuation in forsaking a good home and kind parents 
for such a man as Mathews — who, to say nothing of his dissipated 
habits, was at least twenty years older than herself. 

Perhaps it was strange ; though 1 had learnt enough to think oth- 
erwise. Experience had told me, that such occurrences are far from 
being uncommon, and that one might almost fancy, that scoundrels 
like Leary possess some peculiar charm for fascinating women — at 
least, those of the weaker kind. 

The orphan was shown to us — a beautiful bright-eyed boy, about 
a year old; and bearing a marked resemblance to its mother. 

“ I shall take this child to its grandfather and grandmother in 
Sydney,” said the young woman who had charge of it ; “ they will 
think all the world of it : for it so like their lost daughter. May 
be it will do something to supply her place 1” 

From the manner in which the young couple were behaving 
towards the child, I saw that it would be safe in their keeping ; and 
added my mite, to the fund already contributed for its support. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A RULLINO 8TONS. 


151 


In hopes of learning whether my mother had ever reached Syd- 
ney, I asked them if they had been acquainted with Mathews there ; 
or knew anything of his previous history. On this point they could 
give me no information. They had had no personal acquaintance 
with Mathews in Australia ; and all that they knew or had ever 
heard of him was unfavourable to his character. In Sydney, as else- 
where, he had been known as a dissolute, intemperate man. 

Before we left the house, three men came in — bringing with them 
the gold that had been given for the orphan. 

It was weighed in the presence of the young man and his wife, 
aud the amount was fifty ounces — in value near two hundred pounds 
of English money. My own contribution increased it to a still 
greater sum. The married couple had some scruples about taking 
charge of the gold, although they had none in regard to encumber- 
ing themselves with the child. 

“ I will go with you to an Express Office,” said the man to the 
deputation who brought the money, “ and we will send it to Mr. 

D , in San Francisco. He is a wholesale merjhant there, and 

eame from Sydney. He is acquainted with th^j child’s grand- 
parents ; and will forward the money to them. As for the child, I 
expect soon to return to Sydney myself — when I 3an take it along 
with me, and give it up to those who have the rignt to it. 

This arrangement proving agreeable to all parties concerned, tha 
gold was at once carried to the Express Office, and deposited there, 
with directions to forward it to Mr. D , the merchant. 

« ****** 

Having passed the remainder of the day in the company of Stormy 
Jack, I returned to my home on the Tuolumne, but little better in- 
formed about what I desired to know, than when I left it. I had 
seen Mr. Leary for the last time ; but 1 was as ignorant as e^er of 
the fate of my relatives. 

Leary was now gone out of the world and could trouble my 
mother no more — wherever she might be. It was ^ome satisfaction 
to be certain of that. 

As I walked homeward my reflections were sufficiently unpleas- 
ant : I reproached myself with having too long neglected the duty 
on which I had started out — the search after my relations. 

Nor was I without some regret, as I suffered my mind to dwell 
on the spectacle just past. The criminal was my stepfather. I had, 


LOivr uBiroRS', 


though half unconsciously, given the word, tha^ had lauiohed his 
body from ihe scaffold, and Ms soul into eternity I 

My regrets could not have been very deeply felt. They were 
checked by the reflection, that he could have given me some infor- 
mation concerning my mother, and that he had died apparently 
happy with the thought, that he had disappointed me by withhold 
ing it ! 

Mr. Leary had been my mother’s husband — my own step-father, 
yet without shame 1 have recorded the fact, that he died an igno- 
minious death. I am not responsible for his actionSc I stand alone ; 
and the man who may think any the less of me, for my unfortunate 
relationship with a murderer, is one whose good wiU 4 do Aot think 
worth haviag. 


OB, THE ADVEVTUBES OF A BOLLINO SIOBS. 


153 


CHAPTER XXXIL 
btormy’s last spree. 

Shortly after my returo to the Tuolumne, I was joined by Stormy 
Jack ; who came to Jacksonville, as he had promised he would, with 
the determination to take the world a little easier. 

Since his childhood Stormy had never spent a whole week in idle- 
ness — at least not at a single spell — and such a life he soon found, 
did not help him to that supreme happiness he had been anticipa- 
ting from it. 

In the little town of Jacksonville an idle man could only find 
amusement, in some place where strong drink was sold ; and to be, 
day after day, continually called upon to resist the temptation to 
drink, was a trial too severe for Stormy’s mental and physical con- 
stitution. Both had to yield. He got drunk frequently ; and on 
several occasions so very drunk, as to be afieoted both in his head 
and legs at the same time ! 

He was himself somewhat surprised at finding himself so often 
in this condition of “ double drunkenness,” as he termed it. It was 
not often in his life he had been so. It was a serious affair ; and he 
made some sort of a resolution that it should not occur again. 

To avoid its occurrence, he saw that he must employ himself in 
some way ; and he purchased a rifle, with the design of transform- 
ing himself into a hunter. 

By following this profession he could combine business with 
amusement ; as there were hunters making a very good thing of it, 
by supplying the citizens of Jacksonville with venison and bear 
meat. 

Stormy prosecuted his new calling for about three days. At the 
the end of that time he had been taught three things. One was 
that hunting was hard work — harder, if possible than mining. 
Secondly, he discovered that the amusement of the chase was, afW 


LOST LBNORB ; 


;&4 

all, not ao grand — especially followed as a profession, or by a man c/ 
peculiar inclinations, altogether different to his own. Finally, 
Stormy arrived at the conclusion that the business didn’t pay. 

The truth is. Stormy was no marksman ; and could only hit a 
barn, by going inside, and closing the door before firing off his 
piece. 

The calling of a hunter was not suited to the ()ld salt nor 
was it of the kind he required, to keep him from backsliding into 
his bad habit. He therefore determined to give it up and take to 
some other. 

While deliberating on what was to be done, he again yielded to the 
old temptation ; and got gloriously drunk. 

Alas, for poor Stormy ! It proved the last intoxication of his life ! 

The story of his death is too sad to be dismissed in a few words ; 
and when heard, will doubtless be thought deserving of the “ full 
and particular” account here given of it. I record the facts, in all 
the exactitude and minuteness, with which memory has supplied 
them to myself. 

At that time there was staying in Jacksonville a man known by 
the name, or soubriqiiet, of “ Red Ned.” I had casually beard of 
the man ; though I had not seen him ; as he had only arrived in the 
place a few days before ; and was stopping at one of the gambling 
taverns, with which that minning village was abundantly provided. 

I had heard that Red Ned was a “ dangerous man,” — a title of 
which he was no little vam ; and, probably, ever since his arrival 
in this place, he had been looking for an opportunity of distinguish* 
ing himself by some deed of violence. 

In my wanderings over the world I have encountered many of 
those men known as “ bullies.” Notwithstanding the infamy at- 
tached to the appellation, I have found some of them — perhaps un- 
fortunately for themselves endowed with genuine courage; while 
others were mere cowardly wretches — ever seeking to keep up their 
spurious reputation, by such opportunities as are offered in quarrel- 
ling with half-grown lads, and men under the influence of drink. 

Such swaggerers may be met with in all parts of the world ; but 
nowhere in such numbers, as in California — which for a country so 
thinly peopled, appears to be more than ordinarily afflicted with the 
propensity for “ bullyism.” At least, it was so, at the period of 
which 1 am writing. 

At that time, a man, who w'as known to have killed three or four 
of his fellow-creatures, was looked upon with admiration by many, 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


15S 


with fear by as many more, and with abhorrence by a very few in* 
deed. 

Quarrels in California, three times out of every four, terminated 
fatally for one or the other of the combatants ; and the survivor of 
several such sanguinary affairs was certain to obtain among his fel- 
lows a reputation of some kind — whether of good or evil — and for 
this, unhappily, the majority of mankind are but too eager to 
strive. 

Where society exists in a state of half civilization — such as was 
that of California fifteen years ago — it is not so strange that many 
should be met, who prefer having the reputation of a bully to hav- 
ing no reputation at all. 

It was the unfortunate fate of my old comrade, to encounter one 
of these contemptible creatures — who combine the bully with the 
coward — in the person of Red Ned. 

Stormy, after giving up the calling of the chase, had found him- 
self once more about, and in search of some business that would be 
more suited to his tastes and abilities. While beating about, as al- 
ready stated, he had once more given way to his unfortunate pro- 
pensity for strong drink ; and had got intoxication both in his mind 
and his limbs. 

While in this state, he had involved himself in a coffee-house 
quarrel with the man above mentioned ; and who, no doubt, well 
understood the helpless condition of his adversary ; for it was Red 
Ned himself who provoked the quarrel. 

When unmolested by others, I never knew a man of a more 
harmless, inoffensive disposition than was the old sailor. 

Even when under the influence of liquor, he never, to my knowl- 
edge, commenced a dispute ; but when in that state, he was inclined 
to “ teach manners ” to any one who might interfere with him. 

Red Ned had met Stormy in one of the gambling taverns, where 
the latter was carrying on his carouse ; and perceiving that the old 
sailor was helplessly intoxicated, and, moreover, that he was only a 
sailor — whom he could affront, without offending any of the com- 
pany present — his bullying propensity would not permit him to 
let pass such a fine opportunity of gaining the distinction he coveted. 

In Stormy’s state of inebriety there was but little danger to be 
dreaded from any personal conflict with him ; for although he was 
still able to keep his feet, his legs had reached a degree of drunken- 
ness, that caused him occasionally to reel and stagger over the flooi 
of the bar-room. 


156 


LOST LEirORB ; 


The ruffian, per;e<ltly conscious of all this, made some slurring 
remark — intendediHo reflect upon Stormy’s condition, and loud 
enough for the latter to hear it. 

As might have been expected, the old sailor did not take the slur 
in good part ; but in return poured forth his displeasure in his usual 
frank and energetic manner. 

Stormy, when excited by drink, was somewhat extravagant in 
the use of vituperative language ; and there can be no doubt that 
the bully was compelled to listen to some plain speaking that he did 
not much relish. 

He submitted to the storme for a whil f and then rushing upon 
Stormy, he struck the old sailor a slap with his open hand. 

Stormy, of course, returned the blow with closed fists, and then 
proceeded to defend himself, by throwing his body, as well as its in, 
toxicated legs would allow him, into a boxing attitude. 

But the bully had no intention to continue the fight in that cow- 
ardly fashion — as he would have called it ; and drawing his bowie 
knife out of his boot, he closed suddenly upon Stormy, and buried 
its blade in the old sailor’s side. 

Of course this terminated the strife ; and the w«anded man was 
lonveyed to his lodgings. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING 6TONS« 


157 


CHAPTER XXXm. 

RED NED. 

At the time that Stormy was teaching, or rather receiving, that ter- 
rible lesson of manners, I was not in the village. 1 had gone some 
two or three miles up the river, to look after my miners at their 
work. 

A messenger brought me the news ; and, in breathless haste, i 
hurried homewards. 

On arriving at the house where Stormy lived, I found him stretch- 
ed upon his bed — with a doctor bending over him. 

“ Rowley, my boy, it’s all over with me,” said he. ‘‘ The doctor 
says so ; and for the first time in my life I believe one.” 

“ Stormy ! Stormy ! my friend, what has happened ?” I asked, 
as across my soul swept a wave of anguish more painful than words 
can describe. 

“ Never mind any explanation now,” interrupted the doctor, 
turning to me, and speaking in a low voice. “ Do not excite your 
friend, by making him converse. You can learn the particulars of 
his misfortune from some one else.” 

The doctor was in the act of leaving ; and, interpreting a sign he 
gave me, I followed him out. I was told by him, that Stormy had 
been stabbed, and that his wound would prove mortal. The man 
of medicine imparted some other details of the affair, which he had 
collected from the spectators who had witnessed it. 

On parting from me, the surgeon gave me warning, that the 
wounded man might live two days — certainly not longer. 

“ He has received an injury,” said he, “ that must cause his death 
within that time. You can do nothing, beyond keeping him as quiet 
as possible.” 

After pronouncing this melancholy prognosis, the surgeon took 
his departure, with a promise to call again in the morning. 

I returned to the bedside of my doomed comrade. 


158 


LOST LBNORB ; 


He would talk, in spite of all I could do, or say, to prevent him. 

“ I will talk,” said he, “ and there’s no use in your trying to stop 
me. I’ve not much longer to live ; and why should I pretend to be 
dead, before I really am I” 

I saw it was no use to attempt keeping him either quiet or silent. 
It only excited him all the more ; and would, perhaps, do more 
harm to him than letting him have his way — which I at length did. 
He proceeded to inform me of all the particulars of the affair. His 
account slightly differed from that given me by the doctor ; who 
had, doubtless, "heard a one-sided statement, from the friends of the 
bully. 

“I don’t know' whether I’ve been sarved right or not,” said 
Stormy, after concluding his account. I sartinly called the man 
some ugly names ; and every one about here is likely to say that it 
was right fur him to teach me manners. But why did he stab me 
with a knife % My legs were staggering drunk ; and he might have 
thrashed me without that *?” 

On hearing Stormy’s statement, I became inspired with a feeling 
of fell indignation against the scoundrel, who had acted in such a 
cowardly manner ; a determination, that my old comrade should be 
avenged. 

I knew it would be idle to go before a magistrate, for the purpose 
of getting the bully punished ; for the two men had come to blows, 
before the knife had been used. 

The affair would be looked upon as an affray — in which either, or 
both, had the right to use whatever weapons they pleased — and 
Stormy would be thought deserving of his fate, for not protecting 
himself in a more efficient manner ! 

I knew that he was drunk ; and that even if sober he would not 
have used a deadly weapon in a bar-room row ; but although I knew 
this, others would tell me, that my friend’s being drunk was not 
the fault of the man who had stabbed him ; and that if he had not 
chosen to defend himself acccording to custom, he must bear the 
consequences. 

Impelled by my excited feelings, I left Stormy in the care of a 
miner who had come in to see him ; and stepped over to the tavern, 
where the horrible deed had taken place. 

About forty people were in the bar-room when I entered. Some 
were seated around a table where “ Monte ” was being dealt ; while 
others were standing at the bar, noisily swilling their drinks. 

Without making remark to any one, I listened for a few minutes 
to the conversation. As the affair had occurred only that afternoon, 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 159 

1 knew that they would be talking about it in the bar-room — as in 
reality they were. Several men were speaking on the subject, though 
not disputing. There was not much difference of opinion among 
them. They all seemed to regard the occurrence, as I expected they 
would, in the same light. 

Two men had got into a quarrel, and then come to blows. One 
had stabbed the other — in California an everyday occurrence of tri- 
fling interest. That was all the bar-room loungers were disposed to 
make of it. 

I differed in opinion with them ; and told them, in plain terms, 
that the fight they were talking about had not been a fair one; that 
the man who had stabbed the other had committed a crime but lit. 
tie less than murder. 

A dozen were anxious to argue with me. How could I expect a 
man to be called hard names in a public room without his resenting 
it? 

“ But why did the man use a knife ?” I asked. “ Could the in^ 
suit not have been resented without that ?” 

I was told that men had no business to fight at all, if they could 
avoid it ; but when they did, each had a right to be in earnest, and 
do all the harm he could to the other. 

I was also admonished that I had better not let “ Red Ned” heat 
me talk as I was doing, or I might probably get served as bad as 
the sailor, who had offended him that same day. 

I thus learnt, for the first time, that the man who had wounded 
Stormy was “Red Ned and from what I had heard of this ruffian 
already, I was not the less determined that Stormy should be 
avenged. 

1 knew, moreover, that if “ Red Ned” was to receive punishment, 
it would have to be indicted by myself. 

He was not in the tavern at the time; or, perhaps, he might 
have received it on the instant. 

I returned to Stormy ; and passed the night by his side. 

He was in great pain most part of the night. The distress of 
my mind at the poor fellow’s sufferings, determined me to seek 
“ Red Ned” the next morning ; and, as Stormy would have said, 
“ teach him manners.” 

When the day broke, the wounded man was in less pain, and 
able to converse — though not without some difficulty. 

“ Rowley,” said he, “ we must attend to business, before it is 
too late. I know I shan’t live through another night, and must 
make up my reckoning to day. I’ve got about one hundred and 


160 


LOST lenore; 


eighty ounces ; and it’s all yours, my boy. I don’t knovr that I 
have a relation in the world ; and there is no one to whom I care to 
leave anything but yourself. I can die happy now, because I know 
that the little I leave will belong to you. Had this happened 
before our meeting in Sonora, my greatest sorrow at going aloft 
would have been, to think some stranger would spend what I have 
worked hard to make, while my little Eowley might be rolling 
hungry round the world.” 

At Stormy’s request, the landlord of the lodging was called in ; 
and commanded to produce the bag of gold which the sailor had 
placed in his keeping. 

At this the man, apparently an honest fellow, went out of the 
room ; and soon returned with the treasure ; which in the presence 
of the landlord and a miner who had come in, its owner formally 
presented to me. It was a bequest rather than a present — the act 
of a dying man. 

“ Take it, Rowley,” said he, and put it with your own. It was 
got in an honest manner, and let it be spent in a sensible one. Go 
to Liverpool ; marry the girl you told me of ; and have a home and 
family in your old age. I fancy, after all, that must be the way to 
be happy : for being without home and friends I know isn’t. Ah ! it 
was that as made me live the wretched roaming life. I’ve done.” 

The exertion of talking had made Stormy worse. I saw that he 
began to breathe with difficulty ; and seemed to suffer a great deal 
of pain. So great was his agony, that it was almost equal agony 
for me to stand by his side ; and I stole out, leaving him with the 
surgeon — who had meanwhile arrived — and the miner before me** 
tioned. 

I »tole out upon an errand. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


16 ^ 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

MY COMRADE AVENGED. 

Perhaps ere this my errand may have been conjectured. If not I 
shall disclose it. J left the bed-side of Stormy to seek Red Ned. 

I went direct to the tavern — knowing that the bully frequented 
the place, and that if not there, .some one could probably tell me 
where he might be found. 

As I entered the bar-room, a tall, slender man, with red hair, was 
talking, in a loud voice, to a knot of others collected in front of the 
bar. 

“ Let him dare tell me that it was murder,” said the red-haired 
man, “ and I’ll serve him in the same way I did the other. Mur- 
der, indeed ! Why, there was a dozen men by, who can prove that 
I listened for ten minutes to the. man insulting and abusing me in 
the most beastly manner. Could flesh and blood stand it any 
longer ? What is a man worth who’ll not protect his character ? 
Whoever says I acted unfair is a liar; and had better keep his 
cheek to himself.” 

As soon as 1 heard the speaker’s voice, and had a fair look at 
him, 1 recognised him as an old acquaintance. 

It was Edward Adkins, first mate and afterwards captain of the 
ship “ Lenore” — the man who had discharged me in New Orleans 
after the death of Captain Hyland — the man who had accused me 
of ingratitude and theft ! Yes, it was Adkins, my old enemy. 

I knew that he was a coward of the most contemptible kind, and 
a bully as well. 

What I had witnessed of his conduct on the Lenore, during many 
years’ service with him, had fully convinced me of this. A thor- 
ough tyrant over the crew, while cringing in the presence of Cap- 
tain Hyland — who was often compelled to restrain him, from prac- 
tising his petty spite upon those under his command. It did not 
need that last interview I had had with him in Liverpool — in the 
house ©f Mrs. Hyland — to strengthen my belief that Edward Ad- 
kins was a despicable poltroom 


162 


LOST LENORE ; 


In answer to the question he had put : “ What’s a man worth 

who’ll not protect his character ?” I walked up to him and said : — 
** You have no character to protect, and none to lose. You are a 
cowardly ruffian. You purposely started a quarrel with an inoffen- 
sive man ; and drew your knife upon him when you knew he was 
helpless with drink.” 

“ Hell and damnation ! Are you talking to me ?” inquired Ad- 
kins, turning sharply round, his face red with rage. 

But his features suddenly changed to an expression that told me 
he wished himself anywhere else, than in the presence of the man 
to whom he had addressed the profane speech. 

“ Yes ! I’m talking to you,” said I, “ and I wish all present to list- 
en to what I say. You are a cowardly wretch, and worse. You 
have taken the life of a harmless, innocent man, unable to protect 
himself. You, to talk of resenting an insult, and protecting your 
character — your character indeed !” 

Had we two been alone, it is possible that Adkins would not 
have thought himself called upon to reply to what I had said ; but 
We were in the presence of two score of men ; in whose hearing he 
had just boasted — how he would serve the man who had been slan- 
dering him. That man was myself. 

“ Now !” I cried impatient for action, ‘‘ you hear what I’ve said ! 
You hear it, all of you 1” 

The bully had been brought to bay. 

‘‘ Gentlemen !” said he, addressing the crowd who had gathered 
around, ‘‘ what am I to do 1 I was driven yesterday to an act I now 
regret ; and here is another man forcing me into a quarrel in the 
same way. Take my advice,” said he, turning to me, and leave 
the house, before my blood gets up.” 

There is not the least danger of your blood getting up,” said I, 
your heart’s gone down into your heels. If I was so drunk, as to 
be just able to keep my legs, no doubt you would have the courage 
to attack me. You haven’t got it now.” 

The greatest coward in the world can be driven to an exhibition 
of courage — whether sham or real ; and Adkins, seeing that he 
could no longer in California lay claim to the title of a dangerous 
many without doing something to deserve it, cried out — 

“ Damnation ! if you want it, you shall have it !” 

As the words passed from his lips, I saw him stoop suddenly — 
at the same time jerking his foot upward from the floor. 1 divined 
his intention, which was to draw his bowie out of his bootj 
while his leg was still raised, and before he could fairly lay hold of 


OR, THS ADYSKTITRBS OF A ROLLIRO STONB. 163 

the knife, I dealt him a blow that sent him sprawling upon the floor. 
The knife flew out of his hand ; and, before he could regain his feet, 
1 stepped between him and the place where it was lying. 

I have neglected to tell the reader, that I could no longer with 
propriety be called “ The little Rolling Stone,” though Stormy still 
continued to address me occasionally by that appellation. At the 
time of this — my last encounter with Adkins — I was six feet with- 
out my boots ; and was strong and active in proportion. 1 have 
called it my last encounter with this ruffian — it was so. Before he 
was in a position to attack me a second time, I drew my own knife 
from its sheath ; and threw it on the floor alongside his. I did this, 
to show that I scorned to take any advantage of an unarmed man — . 
as my cowardly opponent had done with poor Stormy Jack. 1 did 
not at the moment think of the wrongs Adkins had done to my. 
self — of my imprisonment in a common gaol — of the falsehoods he 
had told to Mrs. Hyland — of his attempt to win Lenore. I thought 
only of poor Stormy. 

Adkins again rushed on me; and was again knocked down. This 
time he showed a disposition for remaining on the floor — in the 
hopes that some of his friends might come between us, and declare 
the fight to be over ; but I kicked him, until he again got up, and 
once more closed with me. 

I met the third attack, by picking him up in my arms — until his 
heels were high in the air, and then I allowed him to fall down 
again on the crown of his head. He never rose after that fall — his 
neck was broken. 

Before I left the room, every man in it came up and shook hands 
with me — as they did so, telling me that I had done a good thing. 


164 


LOST LBliORS^ 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

STORMY TRANQUIL AT LAST. 

When I returned to Stormy he was worse ; and I saw that he had 
not much longer to live. He was not in so much pain as when J 
left him ; but it was evident he was sinking rapidly. 

“ Stormy,” said I, “ what would you wish me to do to the man, 
who has brought you to this 

“ Nothing,” he answered ; “ he’s a bad man — but let him go 
Promise me that you will not try to teach him manners — let tlv 
Lord do it for us.” 

“ All right, comrade,” said 1, “ your wishes shall be obeyed : fo, 
I cannot harm him now. He has gone.” 

“ I’m glad of that,” said the dying man, “ for it shows that 1^ 
knew himself to be in the wrong. By his running away, other 
will know it too ; and will not say that I desarved what Tve got.” 

** But he has not run away,” said I, “ he is dead. I went to thj 
house, where you met him yesterday. I found him there. Befoiv 
I came out, he died.” 

Stormy’s expressive features were lit up with a peculiar smile. 

It was evident that he comprehended the full import of my arq 
biguous speech ; though he made no comment, further than whd 
gave me to understand, that his object, in making me promise na^ 
to harm Red Ned, was only from fear that I might get the worst ol 
it. I could tell, however, by the expression upon his features, thaj 
he was rather pleased I had not left to the Lord the work of teach 
ing manners to his murderer. 

I remained by the bedside of my dying comrade — painfull; 
awaiting the departure of his spirit. My vigil was not a protracted 
one. He died early in the afternoon of that same day, on whic\ 
his murder had been avenged. 

There was no inquest held, either upon his body or that of his as 
sassin. Perhaps the latter might have been brought to trial, bu\. 
for the judgment that had already fallen upon him. This being 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


165 


deemed just by all the respectable people in the place, there were no 
farther steps taken in the matter, than that of burying the two men, 
who had just fallen a sacrifice to the play of unfortunate passions. 

I have seen many gold-diggers undergo interment, by being sim- 
ply rolled up in their blankets, and thrust under ground without any 
ceremony whatever; all this, too, only an hour or two after the 
breath had departed from their bodies. Such, no doubt, would have 
been the manner in which the body of Stormy Jack would hav© 
been disposed of, had there not been by him in his last hour a 
friend, who had been with him long and respected him much. 

I could not permit his remains to be thus rudely interred. I had 
a good coffin made to contain them ; and gave the old sailor the 
most respectable burial I had ever seen among the miners of Cali- 
fornia. 

Poor Stormy ! Often, when thinking of him, I am reminded of 
how much the destiny of an individual may be influenced by circum- 
stances. 

Stormy Jack was naturally a man of powerful intellect. He pos- 
sessed generosity, courage, a love of justice, and truth — in short, all 
the requisites that constitute a noble character. But his intellect 
had remained wholly uncultivated ; and circumstances had con- 
ducted him to a calling, where his good qualities were but little re- 
quired, and less appreciated. Had he been brought up and educa^ 
ted to fill some higher station in society, history might have carried 
his name — which was to me unknown — far down into posterity. In 
the proportion that Nature had been liberal to him, Fortune had 
been unkind ; and he died, as he had lived, only Stormy Jack — un. 
known too, and uncared for, by the world he might have adorned. 

« * * * * * * 

After having performed the last sad obsequies over his body, I re- 
called the advice he had given me, along with his gold : to returp 
to Lenore. 

I resolved to follow a counsel so consonant with my own desires. 
1 found no difficulty in disposing of my mining shares ; and this 
done, I made arrangements for travelling by the stage conveyance 
then running between Senora and Stockton. 

Before leaving the Stanislaus, 1 paid a visit to the young couple, 
who had been entrusted with the care of Leary’s child. 

My object in going to see them was to learn, if possible, some- 
thing more of that gentleman’s doings in Australia. 


166 


LOfT LENORE 1 


It was true, they had said, that they were unacquainted with hin 
there ; but there were several questions I wished to ask them — by 
which I hoped to learn something concerning my mother, and 
whether she had followed Leary to the colonies. 

I found the guardians of the child still living where I had seen 
them, on the day the murder was executed. The orphan was no 
longer in their keeping. They had sent it to its grand-parents in Syd- 
ney, in charge of a merchant — who had left California for the Aus- 
tralian colonies some weeks before. 

Though I obtained from the man and his wife all the information 
they were capable of giving, I learnt but little of what I desired to 
know. They thought it likely, that in San Francisco, 1 might hear 
more about the subject of my enquiries. They knew a man named 
Wilson — who had come from Sidney in the same ship with them ; 
and who was now keeping a public house in San Francisco. Wil- 
son they believed, had been well acquainted with Matthews — for 
this was the name which Leary had assumed in the colonies. 

Such was the scant information I succeeded in obtaining from the 
friends of the late Mrs. Leary ; and with only this to guide me, 1 
commenced my journey for the capital of California. 


THS ADYANTURfiS Of A ROUIRO STOJitfi. 


m 


CHAPTER XXXVf, 

A ROUGH RIDE. 

The stage, by which I travelled from Sonora to Stockton, wat 
nothing more than a large open waggon, drawn by four Mexican 
horses. 

We started at six o’clock in the morning, on a journey of eighty- 
four miles. This we should have to perform before four o’clock in 
the afternoon of the same day — in order to catch the steamer, 
which, at that hour, was to start from Stockton for San Francisco. 

Notwithstanding that the road over most of the route was in 
reality no road at all, but an execrable path, we made the eighty- 
four miles within the time prescribed : for the stage arrived at 
Stockton more than twenty minutes before the time appointed for 
the sailing of the steamer ! 

In spite of this rapidity of transit, I did not at all enjoy the jour- 
ney between Sonora and Stockton. I was all the time under an 
impression that my life was in imminent danger ; and, as I was at 
last on my way to Lenore, I did not wish to be killed by the over- 
turning of a Californian stage coach — behind four half-wild horses, 
going at the top of their speed. 

Sometimes we would be rushing down a steep hill ; when, to 
keep the horses out of the way of the waggon they were drawing, 
the driver would stand up on his box, and fling the ‘‘ silk” at them 
with all the energy he could command. On such occasions there 
would be moments when not a wheel could be seen touching the 
ground ; and not unfrequently the vehicle would bound through the 
air, to a distance equalling its own length ! 

We were fortunate enough to reach Stockton, without breaking 
either the wheels of the waggon, or the bones of any of the passen- 
gers ; which to me at the time seemed something miraculous. 

I do not relish describing scenes of a sanguinary character ; but, 
to give the reader some idea of the state of society in California, 


168 


LOST LENOREJ 


at the time I write of, I shall mention a circumstance that transpired 
during my twenty minutes’ sojourn in Stockton — while waiting for 
the starting of the steamer. 

Just as we were getting out of the stage waggon, several pistol- 
shots were heard, close to the spot where we had stopped. They 
had been fired inside the gambling room of a public house, on the 
opposite side of the street ; and several men were seen rushing out 
of the house, apparently to escape the chances of being hit by a 
stray bullet. 

As soon as the firing had ceased, the retreating tide turned back 
again ; and re-entered the house — along with a crowd of others, 
who had been idling outside. 

I walked over ; and went in with the rest. On entering this 
large saloon, in which the shots had been fired, I saw two men lying 
stretched upon separate tables — each attended by a surgeon, who 
was examining his wounds. 

I could see that both were badly — in fact, mortally — wounded ; 
and yet each was cursing the other with the most horrible impreca- 
tions I had ever heard ! 

One of the surgeons, addressing himself to the man upon whom 
he was attending, said : — 

“ Do not talk in that profane manner. You had better turn 
your thoughts to something else : you have not many hours to 
live.” 

Neither this rebuke, nor the unpleasant information conveyed by 
it, seemed to produce the slightest effect on the wretch to whom it 
was addressed. Instead of becoming silent, he poured forth a fresh 
storm of blasphemy ; and continued cursing all the time I remained 
within hearing. 

I was told that the two men had quarrelled about a horse ; that 
one of them first fired at the other, who fell instantly to the shot ; 
and that the latter, while lying on the floor, had returned the fire 
of the assailant, sending three bullets into his body. 

I heard afterwards that the shots had proved fatal to both. The 
man who had fired the first shot died that same night — the other 
surviving the sanguinary encounter only a few hours longer. 

I had no desire to linger among the spectators of that tragical 
tableau ; and I was but too glad to find a cue for escaping from it : 
in the tolling of the steam-boat bell, as it summoned the passengers 
aboard. 

A few minutes after, and we were gliding down the San Joaquin 
— en route for the Golden City* 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 169 

The San Joaquin is emphatically a crooked river. It appeared 
to me that in going down it, we passed Mount Diablo at least seven 
times. Vessels, that we had already met, could be soon after seen 
directly ahead of us, while those appearing astern would in a few 
minutes after, encounter us in the channel of the stream ! 

“ A “ Down-easter,” who chanced to be aboard, made the charac- 
teristic observation: — “that the river was so crooked, a bird 
could not fly across it ; as it would be certain to alight on the side 
from which it had started.” 

Crooked as was the San J oaquin it conducted us to the capital of 
California — which we reached at a late hour of the night. 

So impatient was I to obtain the information, which had brought 
me to San Francisco, that on the instant of my arrival I went in 
search of the tavern kept by Mr. Wilson. 

I succeeded in finding it ; though not without some difficulty. It 
was a dirty house in a dirty street — the resort of all the worthless 
characters that could have been collected from the low neighbour- 
hood around it, chiefly runaway convicts, and gay women, from 
Sydney. It was just such a hostelrie, as I might have expected to 
be managed by a quondam companion of Mr. Leary. 

Mr. Wilson was at “ home,” I was at once ushered into his pres- 
ence ; and, after a very formal introduction, I commenced making 
him acquainted with my business. 

I asked him, if, while at Sydney, he had the pleasure of being ao- 
quainted with a man named Mathews. 

“ Mathews ! let me see !” said he, scratching his head, and pre- 
tending to be buried in a profound reflection ; “ I’ve certainly heard 
that name, somewhere,” he continued, “ and, perhaps, if you were 
to tell me what you want, I might be able to remember all about it.” 

I could perceive that my only chance of learning anything from 
Mr. Wilson was to accede to his proposal, which I did, I told him, 
that a man named Mathews had been hung a few weeks before on 
the Stanislaus ; that it was for the murder of a young girl, with 
whom he had eloped from Australia ; and that I had reason to be- 
lieve, that the man had left a wife behind him in Sydney. I had 
heard that he, Mr. Wilson, had known Mathews; and could, per- 
haps, tell me, if such had been the case. 

“ If it was the Mathews I once knew something about,” said the 
tavern-keeper, after listening to my explanation, “ he could not have 
left any money, or property, behind him ; he hadn’t a red cent to 
leave.” 


170 


LOST lenore; 


“ I didn’t say that he had,” I answered. “ It is not for that I make 
the inquiry.” 

“No !” said the tavern-keeper, feigning surprise. “ Then what 
can be your object, in wanting to know whether he left a wife in 
Sydney 1” 

“ Because that wife, if there be one, is my mother.” 

This answer was satisfactory ; and Mr. Wilson, after hearing it, 
became communicative. 

He had no objections to acknowledge acquaintance with a man 
who had been hung — after my having admitted that man’s wife to 
be my mother; and, freely confessed, without any further circum- 
locution, that he had been intimate with a man named Mathews ; 
who had eloped from Sydney with a shop-keeper’s daughter. He 
supposed it must be the same, that I claimed as my step-father. 

Wilson’s Mathews had arrived in Sydney several years before. 
About a year after his arrival he was followed by his wife from 
Dublin — with whom he had lived for a few weeks, and then desert- 
ed her. 

Wilson had seen this woman ; and from the description he gave 
me of her, 1 had no doubt that she was my mother. 

The tavern-keeper had never heard of her, after she had been de- 
serted by Mathews ; nor could he answer any question ; as to 
whether she had brought her children to the colony. He had never 
heard of her children. 

This was the sum and substance of the information I obtained 
from Mr. Wilson. 

My mother, then, had actually emigrated to Australia ; and there, 
to her misfortune, no doubt, had once more discovered the ruffian 
who had ruined her. 

Where was she now ? Where were her children 1 My brother 
William, and my little sister Martha, of whom I was once so fond 
and proud 1 

“ I must visit Australia,” thought I ; “ before going back to Eng- 
land. Until I have recovered my relatives I am not worthy to 
stand in the presence of Lenore I” 


laS APV£NTUA£S 07 A AULPINQ 9T0££. 


rn 


CHAPTER XXXVn. 

THE PARTNER OF THE IMPATIENT MAE. 

As my return to Liverpool and Lenore was now indefinitely post- 
poned, I was in less haste to leave San Francisco. I wished to see 
something of this singular city ; which had grown up, as it were, in 
a single day. 

The citizens of the Californian capital — composed of the young 
and enterprising of all nations — were at that time, perhaps, the fast- 
est people on record ; and more of real and active life was to be 
seen in the streets of San Francisco in a single week, than in any 
other city in a month — or, perhaps, in a year. 

The quick transformation of the place — from a quiet little sea^ 
port to a large commercial city — astonished, even those who had 
witnessed its growth, and played a part in the history of its develop- 
ment. 

Half of the present city is built upon ground, which was once a 
portion of the bay, and under the water of the sea. Boats used to 
ply where splendid buildings now stand — in the very centre of the 
town ! 

On my visit to San Francisco on this occasion, I saw fine sub- 
stantial buildings, where, only one year before, wild bushes were 
growing — on the branches of which the bachelors of the place used 
to dry their shirts ! Mountains had been removed — carried clear 
into the bay — and hundreds of acres had been reclaimed from the 
encroachments of the sea. 

Twice, too — within a period of only two years — the city had 
been burned down, and rebuilt ; and for all this work that had been 
done, prices had been paid, that would seem extravagant beyond be- 
lief— -at least, when compared with the small wages of labour, in 
any other country than California. 


172 


LOST lenore; 


The amusements, manners, and costumes, of almost every nation 
upon earth, could, at this time, have been witnessed in San Fran- 
cisco. There was a Spanish theatre patronized by Chilians, Peru- 
vians, and Mexicans. For the amusement of these people there 
was also a “ Plaza de Toros,” or amphitheatre for their favourite 
pastime — a bull fight. 

In visiting these places of amusement — or the French and Italian 
opera houses — or some of the saloons where Germans met to con- 
tinue the customs of their Faderland ” — one could scarce have 
supposed himself within the limits of a country, whose citizens were 
expected to speak English. 

I paid a visit to all the afore-metioned spectacles, and many others 
— not wholly for the sake of amusement ; but to learn something 
of the varied phases of life there presented to observation. I could 
have fancied, that, in one evening, I had been in Spain, France, Italy, 
Germany, China, and over all parts of both North and South Amer- 
ica ! 

For several days I wandered about the streets of San Francisco, 
without meeting a single individual 1 had ever seen before. 

I was beginning to feel as if I knew no one in the world ; when 
one afternoon I was accosted by a person bearing a familiar fhce. 

It was Farrell, whom I had known at the diggings of the Stanis- 
laus — the partner of the impatient man, who used to worry the 
postmaster of Sonora ; and who had gone home in such haste, after 
learning of the death of his wife. 

“ Come along with me,” cried Farrell, “ I have got a queer story 
to tell you.” 

I accompanied him to the “ Barnum House,” where he was stay- 
ing ; and we sat down to have a talk and a drink. 

“ You were quite right about that fellow Foster,” said he, as 
soon as we had got settled in our chairs ; “ a more treacherous de- 
ceitful villain never trod Californian turf — nor any other, for that 
matter.” 

“ You are a little mistaken.” I replied, “ I never accused him 
of being either treacherous, or deceitful.” 

“ Do you not remember our having a talk about him, the even- 
ing before he started home ; and my telling you, that he was an 
honest, plain-speaking fellow ?” 

Yes ; and I remember telling you, that if your statement, of 
the.’*'»ason of his anxiety to get his letters, was true, he could not 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


173 


be so very deceitful, or he would have had the decency to have 
concealed the cause of that anxiety even from you.” 

“ I have never been more deceived in my life, than 1 was in that 
man,” continued Farrell. ‘‘ Do you know why he was so desirous 
to hear of his wife’s death 1” 

“You said something about another woman 1” 

“ I did» Who do you suppose that other woman was ?” 

“ I haven’t the slightest idea.” 

“ I’ll tell you then. It was my wife! He wanted his own wife 
to die, so that he could go home and elope with mine. It’s a fact 
— and he^s done it too. That’s who the second epistle, he used to 
get, was from. I have just got a letter from my brother, giving 
me the whole news. It’s interesting, isn’t it 

“Yes ; what are you going to do?” 

“ Find them, and kill them both !” said Farrell, hissing the 
words through his teeth. 

“ I should not do that. A man is fortunate in getting rid of a 
wife, who would treat him after that fashion. Your thanks are 
rather due to your fair-dealing friend, for relieving you of any 
further trouble with such a woman.” 

“ There’s some truth in what you say,” rejoined Farrell. “ But 
I don’t like being humbugged. He was such a plain-speaking 
fellow, I wonder why he didn’t tell me what he was intending to 
do, and who was writing to him all the time. In that case, perhaps 
I should have made no objection to his running away with her. 
But there is one thing, I should have decidedly objected to.” 

“ What is that ?” 

Furnishing the money to pay their travelling expenses — as well 
as to keep them comfortably wherever they have gone.” 

“ Did you do that ?” 

“ 1 did. When Foster left the Stanislaus to go home, I entrusted 
all my gold to him — to take home to my precious wife. For all 
his frank open ways, and plain-speaking, he did not tell me that he 
intended to assist my wife in spending it ; and that’s what gives 
me the greatest chagrin. I’ve been regularly sold. Over every 
dollar of that money — as they are eating or drinking it — will they 

be laughing at the fool who worked so d d hard to make it. 

Now I don’t like that; and I should like to know who would. 
Would you ?” 

“ Not exactly. But where do you expect to find them?” 

“ In this city — San Francisco.” 


174 


£.OST lenore; 


‘‘ What ! They surely would not be such simpletons as to coma 
out to California, and you here 

“ That’s just what they’ll do,” replied Farrell. “ They’ll think 
their best plan to keep clear of me, will be to leave the States, and 
get out here, by the time I would be likely to reach home. They 
will expect me to start from this place, the moment I hear the 
news of their elopement ; and that by coming here, they will be 
safe not to see me again — thinking I would never return to Califor- 
nia. For that reason I don’t intend going home at all ; but shall 
stay here till they arrive.” 

After spending the evening in his company, 1 admonished the in- 
jured husband — in the event of his meeting with his false partner 
and friend — to do nothing he might afterwards regret. 

Farrell and I then parted ; and 1 saw no more of him before leav- 
ing San Francisco. 

I sojourned another week in the capital of California; and, 
having learned enough of its mysteries and miseries, I began to 
make preparations for my voyage across the Pacific. 

An eminent banking firm in London had established an agency 
in San Francisco ; and by it 1 forwarded to England all the gold I 
had collected — excepting a few ounces retained for my travelling 
expenses to Australia. 

I found no difficulty in obtaining a passage from San Francisco to 
the latter place. Gold diggings had been recently discovered in 
New South Wales — in Port Philip, as Victoria was then called; 
and as many people from the colonies wished to return, for their 
accommodation, numbers of large ships were being laid on” for 
Sydney and Melbourne. 

There is no class of passenger so profitable as the gold digger 
going away from a diggings ; and this being a fact, well known 
among the captains and owners of ships, there was no scarcity in 
the supply of vessels then fitting out in the harbours of Galifbmia. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


i75 


CHAPTER XXXVHL 

A DIFFERENCE AMONG DIGGERS. 

I ENGAGED passage in the Dutch brig " Ceres,” bound for Sidney ; 
and sailed in the early part of June out of San Francisco Bay. 

When I again embark as a passenger in a Dutch vessel, it will be 
after I have learnt to speak that detestable lingo. Of all the 
crew of the Ceres,” only the first officer could speak a word of 
English ; and during the time I was aboard the brig, I discovered 
more than one good reason for my resolve never again to embark 
in a ship, where 1 could not understand the language by which she 
was worked. 

A majority of the passengers had originally come from the Aus. 
tralian Colonies to California; and were now returning to their 
homes — dissatisfied with a country, where they were not regarded 
as good citizens. 

The worst characters amongst them had conceived a strong 
antipathy for everything American. 

This will be easily understood, by taking into cansideretion the 
fact, that many of the people from the Australian Colonies who 
went to California, were men of infamous character. Indeed it is 
rather to the credit of the Californians : that they had treated with 
some severity these English convicts, who had made their appear- 
ance amongst them, for the express purpose of thieving and rob- 
bing. 

I do not wish to be understood as saying, that all the gold seek- 
ers from Australia were of this character. 1 formed the acquaint- 
ance of many Anglo-Australian diggers, who had won the respect 
of all who knew them. 

Too many of the class, however, were undoubtedly bad men. They 
had been bad men in their mother country ; were bad men in the 
colonies, bad in California ; and will continue to be bad wherever 


176 


LOST lenore; 


they go. They justly merited the contempt, which the Americana 
had bestowed upon them. 

I have more respect for the great nation to which I belong than 
to defend the conduct of its convicts, against the opinions formed of 
them by the people of California. 

There were three or four Californians amongst the passengers of 
che ‘’Ceres," who appeared to be respectable, as they were well con- 
du( ted young men ; yet they were intensely hated by a majority of 
the passengers — merely because they were Americans, and no* 
English convicts from the colonies. 

The Australians, while in California, when not drunk, generally 
behaved themselves like other people. This, however, arose from 
the absolute compulsion of circumstances, and the dread of being 
punished for their misdeeds ; but no sooner had we got clear of 
the Golden Gate, than they resumed their former vulgar habits of 
acting, and speaking ; and not a sentence could be uttered by one 
of them, without reference to the circulating fluid of the body. 

******* 

Early in the month of August, we came in sight of one of the 
numerous groups of islands with which the Pacific ocean is enam<* 
elled. 

About twelve o’clock at night — while going at a speed of not 
more than five knots an hour — we ran straight upon a reef of rocks. 

A scene of wild confusion then ensued — every one expecting the 
brig to go immediately to the bottom — but it was soon ascertained 
that she was hanging or resting on a point of the rocks, which had 
penetrated her timbers ; and that she W’as in no immediate danger 
of sinking. Fortunately, the weather was calm at the time, and 
the sea perfectly tranquil, else the brig would certainly have been 
knocked to pieces. 

As usual, the long boat was found to be not sea-worthy ; and 
there was but one other, a small pinnace, that would hold about 
twelve of the seventy-six passengers comprising the cargo of the 
“ Ceres ’’ — to say nothing of her crew ! 

We could see land, about a mile from our position; and it was 
evident, that no watch could have been kept aboard ; else the brig 
could not have been lost. 

As soon as order had been somewhat restored, and our exact situ- 
ation ascertained, the crew, assisted by the passengers, commenced 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 

building a raft ; upon which, when finished, we were to attempt 
making a passage to the shore. 

At daybreak we obtained a better view of the land — indistinctly 
seen during the darkness. It was a small island — apparently 
about three miles in circumference — with groves of palm trees 
standing thickly over it. . 

The raft having been at length got ready, the work of landing 
commenced. 

By nine o’clock all hands were ashore ; and then some efforts 
were made towards transporting to the beach such provisions as 
could be saved from the wreck of the brig. 

The men, who first volunteered their services for this duty, were 
some of the most disreputable of the passengers. 

Their object in returning to the brig was simply to plunder. The 
boxes belonging to their fellow-passengers were broken open by 
these scoundrels ; who appropriated to themselves every article of 
value they could conceal about their persons. 

When the work of saving the provisions really commenced, it 
was found that there was but little to be saved. All the bread, and 
most of the other stores, had got soaked in the sea-water, and con- 
sequently spoilt. A barrel of beef, and another of pork, were all 
the stores that could be procured in a fit condition for food. 

Before we had been ashore over an hour, we became acquainted 
with the unpleasant circumstance that no fresh water was to be found 
upon the island. 

This intelligence produced great consternation ; and the wreck 
was revisited — for the purpose of ascertaining if any could be pro- 
cured there. But very little water fit for drinking could be had on 
board the brig — most of her supply being down in the hold, and, 
of course, submerged entirely out of reach. 

Some mining tools and American axes had constituted a portion 
of the cargo. Some of these were now brought ashore, and put in- 
to requisition in the search for water. 

With the picks and shovels we scooped out a deep hole in the 
centre of the island ; which, to the delight of all, soon became filled 
with the wished-for fluid. 

Our joy was of short continuance. We tasted the water. It was 
briny as the billows of the ocean. It was the sea-water itself— that 
went and came with the tides. 

Next morning, the captain and six men were despatched in the 
pinnace — in the hope of them finding some ship to take us off*, or 


178 


LOST LBNORK ; 


reaching some inhabited island — where they might obtain the means 
of assisting us. 

They took with them nearly all the water that remained — leaving 
over seventy people to depend on the milk of cocoa-nuts as a sub-, 
stitute. 

To go out to sea in an open boat, with but a short allowance of 
water, and some salt bee^ was not a very pleasant undertaking ; 
but the captain and his crew seemed highly elated at even this op- 
portunity of getting away from the island. They preferred their 
chances to ours. 

Although the island was small, there was a sufficient quantity of 
fruit growing upon it to have supported us for many weeks. The 
chief trouble to be apprehended, was from the lawless wretches who 
comprised a large minority of the passengers. 

After the shipwreck, these men became possessed with the idea, 
that they were to be no longer under restraint. The only law they 
appeared disposed to regard was, that of might ; and there was a 
sufficient number of them to give trouble should they combine in 
any evil design. 

The old convicts, of course, felt sympathy for, and aided one 
another; while those of the passengers that were honestly inclined, 
gave themselves too little concern, on the score of combination. 

The consequences were, that matters soon proceeded to a state 
of dangerous insubordination ; and each hour it was becoming more 
evident, that those who wished to live without molesting others, or 
being molested themselves, must enter into a league against the 
scoundrels, who would otherwise devote the whole community to de- 
struction. 


OR, Till; ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


179 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

GOVERNMENT AGREED UPON. 

The more respectable of the castaways were now convinced that 
some form of government was necessary ; and that it should be a 
strong one. Some who had been willing to acknowledge the au- 
thority of the officers of the brig while aboard their craft, would 
now no longer concede it to them ; and yet authority of some kind 
was essential to our salvation. 

We had much to do. The boat had gone away in search of as- 
sistance. It might be lost ; and the captain and crew along with it. 
Even if they should succeed in reaching some inhabited land, they 
might never return to us ? There was no wisdom in trusting to 
that source for relief. We must do something for ourselves. 

A new vessel might be built from the materials of the wreck ; 
but to accomplish this we should have to adopt some form of gov- 
ernment, and submit to its authority. 

There was another and still stronger reason why some ruling 
power should be established. The cocoa-nuts grew at a height rath- 
er inconvenient for a hungry or thirsty man to reach them ; and a 
readier and simpler way of obtaining them was by felling the trees. 
As we were well supplied with axes brought from the wreck, those 
so inclined were able to effect this object ; and, before we had been 
three days ashore, many of the trees were thus ruthlessly levelled 
to the ground. 

Considering, that we might have to reside on the island for weeks, 
or even months, and that our only substitute for water was the milk 
to be obtained from these cocoanuts, it was evident that the trees 
should not be destroyed. 

A meeting of all hands was at length got together ; and a com- 
mittee of five appointed, to form rules of government, which we 
should all agree to be guided by. 


180 


LOST lenore; 


Next day, something in the shape of order was inaugurated. 
We were divided into three parties — to each of which special du- 
ties were assigned. One party was entrusted with the business of 
carpentering. They were to take the wreck to pieces, and construct 
out of the fragments a new vessel. This party comprised half of 
the able-bodied men on the island ; and was placed under the con- 
trol of the first officer of the brig — with the carpenter to instruct 
them in their new duties. 

Another party was appointed to act as fishermen — which calling 
also included the gathering of such shell-fish as could be found along 
the shore. 

The third party-^principally composed of the invalids — were to 
act as cooks, and fill other light offices ; while a few young men who 
were expert in climbing the cocoa-nut trees, were specially appoint- 
ed for procuring the nuts. 

A chief statute of our improvised code was : that any one who 
should cut down, or in any way injure, a cocoa-nut tree, so as to 
cause its destruction, was, on conviction ot th^ offence, to be shot ! 

The punishment may appear out of proportion to the offence; 
but when it is considered that our very existence might depend on 
the preservation of these precious trees, it will be seen at once, that 
the crime was of no light character. 

A majority of those who voted for this resolution were in earnest ; 
and I am positive that any one acting in opposition to it, would have 
suffered the punishment of death. 

Some of the old convicts were much opposed to the arrange- 
ments thus made ; but they were compelled to submit, and act in 
accordance with them. 

These men were masters of the island when we first landed ; and 
seamed to think, they had the right to help themselves to whatever 
they wished, without regard to the general good. 

Two of these “ Sydney birds,” who chanced to be a shade worse 
than their fellows — were specially informed, that if they should be 
caught violating the rules we had established, no mercy would be 
shown them. 

A man of some influence amongst the more respectable of the 
passengers, had detected one of these worthies in possession of some 
articles that had been taken out of his chest on board the brig. He 
not only compelled a quick surrender of the misappropriated chat- 
tel, but promised for the future to watch for an opportunity of send- 
ing the thief where he would be in no danger of repeating the theft. 
Several others threw out hints to the two men to behave themselves, 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


181 


telling them that their only chance of life would be to act honestly ; 
otherwise they would certainly meet with immediate chastisement. 
Such hints were effectual ; and for a time the peace of the commu- 
nity remained undisturbed. 

Three weeks passed — during which the work of ship-building 
progressed, as well as could be expected. The wreck had been 
taken to pieces, and floated ashore ; and from the materials a toler- 
able commencement had been made in the construction of a new 
craft. 

At this time serious fears began to be entertained, that many of 
us must die for the want of water. The cocoa-nuts were each day 
becoming scarcer ; the trees did not grow them as fast as they were 
consumed ; and a close watch was kept on the actions of every one 
in the community — in order that no one should have more than his 
share. 

This duty was very harassing : as it had to be performed by the 
honest and respectable men ; who were far from being the majority 
among us. 

To our great relief, we were one night favoured by a fall of 
rain. 

It rained but very little — a mere shower — and we had a good 
deal of trouble in collecting it. All the shirts on the island, clean 
or dirty, as they chanced to be, were spread out upon the grass ; 
and, when saturated with the rain, were wrung into vessels. 

Every exertion was made to save as much water as possible ; and 
not without some success ; for a sufficient quantity was collected to 
place us beyond the fear of want for several days longer. 

Some of the men began to suffer severely from the want of to- 
bacco. Only those, who had originally acted in the salvage of the 
wreck, were in possession of this precious commodity — having 
freely helped themselves while in the performance of that duty. 
Some of them did not refuse to sell a portion of their stock ; and 
small plugs of tobacco, weighing about a quarter of pound, readily 
found purchasers at ten dollars the plug ! 

One man, on paying his “ eagle ” for a pair of these plugs, was 
heard to remark : “ Well, this is the second time I’ve bought this 
tobacco, though the price has been awfully raised since my first 
purchase. I know these plugs well. They’ve been taken out of 
my own chest !” 

The person from whom the tobacco was purchased seemed highly 


182 


LOST LBNORE ; 


amused, and not a little flattered. He was proud to think the pun 
chaser did not take him for a fool ! 

It gradually became the conviction of all : that we should have 
to depend on our own vessel for getting away from the island. It 
was not a very agreeable prospect : since we knew that we should 
have to put to sea, with but little food and less water. Even from 
the first, it had seemed exceedingly doubtful that the captain would 
ever return. 

Some were of the opinion that he could not, even if inclined ; 
that he knew not the position of the island, on which we had been 
cast away ; and, consequently, could give no instructions about find- 
ing it — even should he be so fortunate as to fall in with a ship. 

There were many probabilities in favour of this belief ; and those 
who entertained it did not fail to bring them forward. 

“ If he knew where the island lay,” argued they, “ why was the 
brig run ashore upon it on a calm, clear night !” 

Certainly this question suggested a very discouraging answer. 

At the end of the fifth week, our new vessel was nearly completed ; 
and we set industriously to the collecting of shell-fish, cocoa-nuts, 
and other articles of food, to serve as stores for our intended 
voyage. 

The craft we had constructed was not a very beautiful creature to 
look at ; but 1 have no doubt it would have answered the purjiose 
for which we had designed it. 

By good fortune, we were never called upon to make trial of its 
sailing qualities. Just as we were about to launch it, a ship was 
seen bearing down for the island ! 

Before her anchor was dropped, a boat was seen shoving off for 
the shore ; and, soon after, we had the pleasure of looking once 
more on the cheerful, honest countenance of the old Dutch skipper. 

He had not deserted us in our distress, as some had conjectured ; 
and he did know the situation of the island, as was proved by his 
bringing the ship back to it. 

At the time of his departure, he had not a friend amongst the 
passengers of the “Ceres.” There was not one on that occasion to 
speak a word in his favour. But now, as soon as he set foot on the 
island, he was hailed with three hearty cheers, and there was a 
struggle among the crowd who surrounded him : as to who should 
b ' the first to show their gratitude by a grasp of the hand * 


UR, TUR ADVENTURES OF A ROLLINO STONE. 


181 


CHAPTER XL. 

A HUNGRY PASSAGE. 

The ship thus brought to our rescue was a New England whaler, 
that had been cruising about in pursuit of the sperm whale. The 
captain asked six hundred dollars for taking our whole community 
to New Zealand. 

The demand was by no means extortionate. Indeed, it was a 
moderate sura — considering the trouble and expense he would have 
to incur : since he had already lost a good deal of time on his way 
to the island. 

The voyage to New Zealand might occupy several weeks — during 
which time we would be consuming no small quantity of his stores. 

But although this price was not too much for the Yankee skipper 
to ask, it was more than the Dutch skipper was able to pay ; since 
the latter had not got the money. 

The passengers were called upon to subscribe the amount. Most 
ot them objected. They had paid a passage once, they said, and 
would not pay it over again. 

To this the captain of the whaler made a very reasonable rejoin- 
der. If there were just grounds for believing that the money 
could not be obtained, he would have to take us without it • for he 
could never leave so many men on so small an island, where they 
might perish for want of food and water. But as we do not claim 
to be out of funds, the fault would be our own if he departed with 
out us ; which he would certainly do, unless the passage-money 
was paid. He also gave us warning, that we might expect to put 
up with many inconveniences upon his ship. She was not a pas- 
ssel; nor was he supplied with provisions for so many 

clear that the six hundred dollars must be raised some 


senger-v€ 

people. 

It was 


184 


LOST lbnorb; 


way or other ,* and a movement was immediately set on foot to 
collect it. 

Many of the passengers declared that they had no money. Some 
of them spoke the truth ; but the difficulty was to learn who did, 
and who did not. 

Amongst others, who solemnly declared that they had no money 
was a ruffian, who had been selling tobacco at the rate of forty dol 
lars per pound. This fact was communicated by the individual, 
who had repurchased, and paid so dearly, for his own weed. 

The fellow was now emphatically informed, that unless he paid 
his share of the passage-money, he would be left behind upon the 
island. 

This threat had the desired effect. He succeeded in finding the 
required cash ; and after much wrangling, the sum of six hundred 
dollars was at length made up. 

Next day we were taken aboard the whaler ; and sailed away 
from the island in a direct course for the port of Auckland. 

I never made a more disagreeable voyage than on board that 
whaler. There were several reasons that rendered the passage un- 
pleasant. One was, that all on board were in an ill-conditioned 
frame of mind ; and, consequently, had no relish for being either 
civil or sociable. The diggers had been detained several weeks — 
on their way to a land they were anxious to reach in the shortest 
possible time — and they now were to be landed at Auckland 
instead of Sydney. Another voyage would have to be made, be- 
fore they could arrive at the gold fields of Australia — of which they 
had been hearing such attractive tales. 

We were not even favoured with a fair breeze. On the contrary, 
the wind blew most of the way against us ; and the ship had to 
make about three hundred miles, while carrying us only fifty in the 
right direction. 

The whaler, moreover, was an old tub — good enough for her 
proper purpose, but ill adapted for carrying impatient passengers 
on their way to a new gold field. 

She was kept as much into the wind as possible; but withal 
made so much lee-way, that her course was side-ways — in the same 
manner as a pig would go into a battle. 

There were no accommodations either for sleeping, or eating the 
little food we were allowed ; and we were compelled to rough it in 
the most literal sense of the phrase. 

By the time we should have reached Auckland, we were not half 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 185 

the distance ; and both the provisions and water of the ship were 
well nigh consumed. 

Between seventy and eighty hungry and thirsty men — added to 
the original crew of the whaler — had made a greater destruction 
of his ship’s stores than the captain had calculated upon ; and the 
third week, after leaving the island, we were put on an allowance 
of one quart of water per diem to each individual. Meat was no 
longer served out to us ; and simple though not very sweet, biscuit 
became our food. We were also allowed rice; but this, without 
garnishing, was still more insipid than the biscuits. 

We thought it hard fare, and complained accordingly; although 
we had but little reason for doing so. We could only blame our 
fat«, or our fortune ; and so the captain of the whaler, was accus- 
tomed to tell us. 

‘‘ I warned you,” he would say, ‘‘ that you might expect to have 
a hard time of it. I’m sure I did not advertise for you to take pas- 
sage in my vessel, and you have no reason to complain. I do the 
best for you I can. You are growling about having to eat rice. 
Millions of people live on it for years, while working hard. You 
have only to live on it for a few days, and do nothing. I hope, for 
both our sakes it won’t last long.” 

It was just because they were doing nothing that the grumblers 
were so loud in their complaints. 

In justioo to many of the passengers, I should state, that those 
who complained the most were the very men who had paid nothing 
at all towards remunerating the captain for his services. They 
were some of the worst characters aboard ; and, without making 
any allowance for the circumstances under which we were placed, 
found fault with everything on the whaler. I believe, they did so 
for the simple reason that she was an American ship. 

Luckily we reached Auckland at last, though not a day too soon ; 
for by the time we sighted land the patience of the passengers with 
each other, and their temper towards the captain, were well nigh ex- 
hausted. Had we remained at sea a few hours longer, some strange 
scenes would have taken place on the whaler, which all aboard of 
her would not have survived to describe. 

No doubt the Yankee captain saw us go over the side of his ship 
with much heartfelt satisfaction ; though certainly this feeling was 
not all to himself. His late passengers, one and all, equally par- 
ticipated in it. 

I saw but very little of Auckland, or rather of the country 


186 


LOST LSNOBS; 


around it ; but, from that little I formed a favourable opinion of iti 
natural resources and abilities ; and I believe that colony to be a 
good home for English emigrants. 

Being myself a Rolling S^tone, I did not regard it with the eyes 
of a settler ; and therefore 1 might be doing injustice either to the 
colony itself, or to intending emigrants, by saying much about it. 

Guided by recent experiences, there is one thing I can allege in 
favour of New Zealand as a colony, which, in my opinion, makes it 
superior to any other ; that is, that a home can be there had farther 
away from London^ than in other colonial settlement with which 1 
am acquainted. 

From Auckland to reach any part of Australia required a fur 
ther outlay of six pounds sterling. 

The gold diggers thought this rather hard — alleging that they had 
already paid their passage twice ; but they were forced to submit to 
circumstances. 

For myself, after being in Auckland a few days, I obtained a pas- 
sage in a small vessel sailing for Sydney ; which port we reached, 
after a short and pleasant run of nine days’ duration. 

I had been exactly five months in getting from San Francisco to 
Sydney — a voyage that, under ordinary circumstances, might, havp 
been made in fifty days I 


g&« THE ADVENTURES Of A ROLLINO STONJS. 


1«7 


CHAPTER XLt, 

ms GUARDIANS OF THE ORPHAIT. 

I HAD at length reached the place where, in all probability, 1 
snould find my long-lost mother. 

A few days might find me happy, with my relatives restored to 
me, and all of us on our way to Liverpool — where 1 should see Le- 
nore. 

I felt a very singular sort of pleasure, in the anticipation of an in. 
terview with my mother and sister. They would not know me ; for 
I was but a boy when 1 parted from them in Dublin. They would 
scarce believe that the fair-skinned, little “ Roling Stone,” could 
have become changed to a large bearded man — with a brow tanned 
by the South Sea gales, and the hot tropical beams of a Californian 
sun. 

Before leaving San Francisco 1 had obtained the address of the 
grandparents of Mr. Leary’s child; and also of several other 
people in Sydney, who would be likely to have known something 
of Leary himself residing there. 

From some of these persons I hoped to obtain information, that 
would guide me in the search after my relatives. 

Mr. Davis, the father of the unfortunate girl who had eloped with 
Leary, was a respectable shopkeeper in the grocery line. 

As there could be no great difficulty in finding his shop, 1 re- 
solved to make my first call upon the grocer. 

Notwithstanding my hatred to Leary, I felt some interest in the 
child he had helped to make an orphan. I wished to ascertain, 
whether it had been safely delivered into the charge of its grandpa- 
rents — as also the gold, which the Californian miners had so lib- 
erally contributed towards its support. 

The next day after landing in Sydney, I made my call upon Mr. 
Davis. 

I found his shop without any difficulty; and in it himself, an 
honest looking man, apparently about fifty years of age. 

His business appeared to be in a flourishing condition ; for the 
establishment was a large one, and to all appearance well stocked 
with the articles required in a retail grocery. 


188 


LOST LENORE ; 


There were two young men behind the counter, besides Mr. Da. 
vis himself ; who, as I entered was in the act of serving a customer. 

On the old gentleman being told, that if he was not too much en- 
gaged, 1 should like a few minutes’ conversation with him, he handed 
the customer over to one of his assistants, and conducted me into a 
sitting-room that adjoined the shop. 

After complying with his request to be seated, 1 told him, I had 
lately arrived from California, where 1 had heard of him, and that 
1 had now called to see him, on a business to me of some import- 
ance. 1 added, that the communication I had to make might awaken 
some unpleasant thoughts *, but 1 deemed it better to make it, rathei 
than run the risk of incurring his displeasure, by not communicating 
with him at all. 

Mr. Davis then civilly demanded to know the nature of my busi- 
ness ; though from his tone I could tell, that he already half com- 
prehended it. 

“ If I am not mistaken,” said 1, “ you have a child here, that has 
been sent you from California 1” 

•* Yes,” answered he, “ one was brought to me from there, about 
four months ago. I was told that it was my grandchild ; and I re^ 
ceived it as such.” 

“ And have you also received a sum of money, that was to have 
been intrusted to your care, for its benefit V I asked. 

“ I have ; and that was some proof to me that the child was reaS- 
ly my grandchild.” 

To this sage observation of the grocer, 1 replied, by making to 
him a full disclosure of my object in visiting Sydney ; and that f 
had called on himself to learn, if possible, something concerning my 
own mother. 

“ You could not have come to a better place to obtain that infor- 
mation,” said he ; “a woman calling herself Mrs. Leary, and claim- 
ing to be the wife of the man who had been known here by the 
name of Mathews, calls here almost every day. If she be your 
mother, you will have no difficulty in finding her ; she is a dress 
maker, and my wife can tell you where she resides.” 

My task had proved much easier than J had any reason to ex- 
pect ; and I was now only impatient to obtain the address ; and 
hasten to embrace my long-lost mother. 

“ Do not be too fast,” said the cautious Mr. Davis. “ Wait un- 
til you have learnt something more. Let me ask you two or three 
questions. Do you know how the man Mathews died 1” 

“ Yes : I saw him die.” 

“ Then you know for what reason he was put to death 


OR, THB ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 189 

** I do, * was my answer. “ And you — 

“ I too — alas ! too certainly,” rejoined Mr. Davis in a sorrowful 
tone. “ But stay,” he continued, “ 1 have something more to say to 
you, before you see the woman who calls herself his wife, and whom 
you believe to be your mother. She does not know that Mathews 
is dead. I did not wish it to go abroad, that my daughter had been 
murdered, and that the man with whom she eloped had been hang- 
ed for the deed. Her running away with him was sorrow and 
shame enough, without our acquaintances knowing any more. They 
think that my daughter died in a natural way ; and that the man 
Mathews, has merely sent the child back to us, that we might 
bring it up for him. The woman, you think is your mother, be- 
lieves this also ; and that Mathews is still alive, and will soon re- 
turn. She seems to love him, more than she does her own life. I 
have informed you of this, so that you may know how to act. She 
comes here often to see the child — because her husband was its 
father. She is a strange w'oman : for she seems to love the little 
creature as though it was her own ; and I have no doubt would wil- 
lingly take sole charge of it on herself, were we to allow her.” 

All this was strange information, and such as gave me exceeding 
pain. It was evident that my unfortunate mother had profited 
nothing by the experience of the past. She was as much infatuated 
with Leary as ever — notwithstanding that he had again deserted 
her, after she had made a voyage of sixteen thousand miles to re- 
join him ! 

1 saw Mrs. Davis and the young Leary. It was an interesting 
child — a boy, and bore no resemblance to the father, that 1 could 
perceive. Had it done so, I should have hated it ; and so did J de- 
clare myself in the presence of its grandmother. In reply to this 
avowal, the old lady informed me that Mrs. Leary and 1 held a 
different opinion upon the point of the child’s resemblance ; for she 
thought it a perfect image of its father, and that w^as the reason why 
she was so dotingly fond of it ! 

Thank God !” said the grandmother, “ that I myself think as 
you do. No. The child has no resemblance to its unworthy fath- 
er. 1 am happy in thinking, that in every feature of its face it is 
like its mother — my own unfortunate child. I could not love it 
were it not for that : but now I don’t know what I should do with 
out it. God has surely sent us this little creature, as some com- 
pensation for the loss we sustained by being deprived of our dear 
daughter !” 

The grief of the bereaved mother could not be witnessed without 
pain ; and leaving her with the child in her arms, I withdrew. 


LOST IGNORE ; 


m 


CHAPTER XLH. 

A MEETING WITH A LONG-LOST MOTHER. 

From Mrs. Davis I had obtained my mother’s address ; and I went 
at once in search of the place. 

Passing along the street, to which I had been directed, I saw a 
small, but neat-looking shop, with the words ; “ Mrs. Leary ^ Mil- 
liner and Dress-Maker^' painted over the door. I had journeyed 
far in search of my mother ; 1 had just arrived from a long voyage — 
which it had taken three ships to enable me to complete. The 
weariness of spirit and impatience caused by the delay, had been a 
source of much misery to me; but now that the object of my search 
was found — and there was nothing further to do than enter the house 
and greet my long-lost relatives — strange enough, I felt as if there 
was no more need for haste ! Instead of at once stepping into the 
house, I passed nearly an hour in the street — pacing up and down 
it, altogether undetermined how to act. 

During that hour my thoughts were busy, both with the past and 
future : for I knew that in the interview 1 was about to hold with 
my mother, topics must come into our conversation of a peculiar 
kind, and such as required the most serious reflection on my part, 
before making myself known to her. 

Should I make her acquainted with the ignominious termination 
of Mr. Leary’s career ; and by that means endeavour to put an end 
to her strange infatuation for him 1 If what Mrs. Davis had told 
me regarding her, should turn out to be true, I almost felt as if I 
could no longer regard her as a mother. Indeed, when I reflected 
on her affection for such a wretch as Leary, I could not help some 
risings of regret, that 1 should have lost so much time, and endured 
so many hardships, in search of a relative who could be guilty of 
such incurable folly. 

Notwithstanding the time spent in pacing through the street, I 


OR, THB ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 


191 


oould determine on no definite course of action; and, at length, 
resolving to be guided by circumstances, I stepped up to the house, 
and knocked at the door. 

It was opened by a young woman, about nineteen years of age. 

I should not have known who she was, had I not expected to meet 
relatives ; but the girl was beautiful, and just such as I should have 
expected to find my sister Martha. My thoughts had so often 
dwelt upon my little sister ; that I had drawn in my mind an imag- 
inary portrait of her. Her blue eyes and bright hair, as well as the 
cast of her countenance, and form of her features, had ever remained 
fresh and perfect in my memory. I had Only to gaze on the young 
girl before me, refer to my mental picture of little Martha, remem • 
ber that eleven years had passed since last I saw her, and be certain 
that I had found my sister. 

I knew it was she ; but I said nothing to make the recognition mu» 
tual. I simply asked for Mrs. Leary. 

I was invited in ; and requested to take a seat. 

The apartment, into which I was conducted, seemed to be used as 
a sitting-room as well as a shop ; and from its general appearance I 
could tell that my mother and sister were not doing a very flourish, 
ing business. There was enough, however, to satisfy me, that they 
were earning their living in a respectable manner. 

To prevent being misunderstood, 1 will state that, by a respecta- 
ble manner, I mean that they, to all appearance, were supporting 
themselves by honest industry ; and in my opinion thefe can be no 
greater evidence, that they were living a life that should command 
respect. 

The young girl, without a suspicion of the character of her visitor, 
left me to summon the person for whom I had made inquiry ; and 
in a few minutes time, Mrs. Leary herself entered from an adjoining 
room. I saw at a glance that she was the woman I remembered as 
mother. 

The face appeared older and more care-worn ; but the features were 
the same, that had lived so long in my memory. 

It would be impossible to describe the strange emotions that 
crowded into my soul on once more beholding my long-lost, unfor- 
tunate mother. I know not why I should have been so strongly afi 
fected. Some may argue that a weak intellect is easily excited by 
trifles. They may be correct ; but there is another phenomenon. A 
great passion can never have existence in a little soul ; and I know 
that at that moment, a storm of strong passioUs was raging withik 
mine. 


.92 


LOST lenork; 


I tried to speak, but could not. Language was not made for the 
thoughts that at that moment stirred within me. 

It was not until 1 had been twice asked by my mother, what was 
toy business, that I perceived the necessity of saying something. 

But what was I to say ? Tell her that I was her son ? 

This was what common sense would have dictated ; but, just at 
that crisis, I did not happen to have any sense of this quality about 
me. My thoughts were wandering from the days of childhood up 
to that hour ; they were in as much confusion, as though my brains 
had been stirred about with a wooden spoon. 

I contrived to stammer out something at last ; and I believe the 
words were, “ 1 have come to see you.” 

“ If that is your only business,” said my mother, ‘‘ now that you 
have seen me, you may go again.” 

How familiar was the sound of her voice ! It seemed to have been 
echoing, for years, from wall to wall in the mansion of my memory. 

I made no effort to avail myself of the permission she had so 
curtly granted ; but continued gazing at the two — my eyes alter- 
nately turning from mother to daughter — in a manner that must 
have appeared rude enough. 

“ Do you hear me 1” said the old lady. “ If you have no busi- 
ness here, why don’t you go away?” 

There was an energy in her tone that touched another chord of 
memory. “ It is certainly my mother,” thought I, “ and I am at 
home once more.” 

My soul was overwhelmed with a thousand emotions — more 
strong than had ever stirred it before. I know not whether they 
were of pleasure or of pain : for I could not analyze them then, and 
have never felt them before or since. 

My actions were involuntary ; for my thoughts were too much 
occupied to guide them. 

A sofa stood near ; and, throwing myself upon it, I tried to real- 
ize the fact : that eleven years had passed, since parting with my re- 
latives a boy, and that I had met them again, and was a boy no 
longer ! 

“ Martha !” cried my mother, “ go and bring a policeman !” 

The young girl had been gazing at me, long and earnestly. She 
continued her gaze, without heeding the command thus addressed 
to her. 

‘‘ Mother,” rejoined she, after an interval, “ we have seen this 
man before ; I’m sure I have.” 


OR, THB AOTBNTTJKES 07 A ROLLtNO BTOVB. M 

** Did you not once live in Dublin, sir ?*' she asked, turning to 

me. 

Yes, I once lived there— when a bey/’ I answered. 

“ Then 1 must be mistaken/’ said she ; but I really thought I 
had seen you there.” 

There was something so very absurd in this remark, that I could 
not help noticing it — even m my abstracted state of mind ; aad this 
very absurdity had the effect of awakening me from my reverie. 

It then suddenlv occurred to the young girl, that she had not been 
in Dublin since she was a child herself-, and, at the time she left 
that city, a young man ot my appearance could not have been much 
more than a boy. 

Perhaps, 1 am right after all,” said she. “ I do believe that I've 
seen you in Dublin. Mother !” she added, turning to the old la 
dy ; “ he knows who we are.” 

Martha’s first remark — about having seen me in Dublin— brought 
upon me the fixed gaze of my mother. She had often told me that 
when a man 1 would look like my father ; and perhaps my features 
awakened within her some recollections of the past. 

She came up to me ; and speaking in a low, earnest voioe^ said : 
“ Tell me who you are T’ 

I arose to my feet, trembling in every limb. 

** Tell me who you are I what is your name she exclaimed, be- 
coming nearly as much excited as myself. 

I could no longer refrain from declaring myself ^ and I made an 
«wer : — 

“ I am the Rolling Stone.” 

Had 1 been a small and weak man, I should have been crushed 
and suffocated by the embraces of my mother and sister — so de 
monstrative were they in their expressions of surprise and joy. 

As soon as our excitement to some extent, subsided ; and we 
were able to converse in a rational manner, I inquired after my 
brother William. 

“ I left him apprenticed to a harness-maker in Liverpool,” an 
Bwered my mother. 

“ But where is he now?’' f asked j “ that was long ago." 

My mother began to weep ; and Martha made answer for her. 

“William ran away from his master; and we have never heard 
t>f him since/’ 

1 requested to be informed what efforts had been made to find 
him. I was then told that my mother had written two or three 
times to the harness maker ; and from him had learnt that he had 


m 


l.osT lbnork; 


used every exertion, to discover the whereabouts of his runaway 
apprentice, but without success. 

it appeared that my mother never liked to hear any one speak of 
William ; for she had some unpleasant regrets at having left him be- 
hind her in Liverpool. 

1 consoled her hy saying that I had plenty of money ; that Wil- 
liam should be advertised for, and found ; and that we should all 
again live happily together — as we had in years long gone by. 

In all my life I was never more happy than on that evening. The 
future was full of hope. 

It was true that much had yet to be done before my purposes 
could be fully accomplished. But a man with nothing to do, cannot 
be contented. We must ever have something to attain, or life is 
not worth the having. 

I had yet something to live for. I had still a task to perforza 
that might require much time and toil. 1 had yet to win I^nor»> 


IHK ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE, 


10ft 


CHAPTER XLffl. 

HTSTIFIED BY MARTHA. 

The next day I had a long conversation with my mother — as to 
what we should do in the future. 

It resulted in my proposing that we should return immediately to 
Liverpool. 

“ No ! no !” protested she, with an eagerness that astonished 
me ; “ I cannot think of that. I must wait for the return of my 
husband.” 

“ Your husband !” 

“Yes ! yes ! Mr. Leary. He has gone to California; but I have 
reason to believe that he will soon be back.” 

“ Now that you have spoken of Atm,” said I, “ please to tell me 
all about him ; and how he has used you since I left home.” 

“ He has always been very kind to me,” she answered, “ very 
kind indeed. He has gone to the diggings in California ; where I 
have no doubt but what he will do well, and come back with plenty 
of money.” 

“ But I was told in Dublin that he deserted you there,” said I. 
“Was that very kind indeed ?” 

“ It is true ; he did leave me there ; but the business was doing 
badly, and he couldn’t help going. 1 have no doubt but what ke 
was sorry for it afterwards.” 

“Then you followed him there, and lived with him again?” 

“ Yes ; and we were very happy.” 

But I have been told by Mr. Davis — whom you know — that he 
again ckaerted you here, and ran away to California with another 
woman. Is that true ?” 

“ He did go to California,” answered my foolish mother, “and I 
suppose that Miss Davis went with him ; but I blame her more than 
him ; for I’m sure she led him astray, or he would not have gone 
with her. However, I’ll not say much against her, for I hear she is 
dead now, poor thing !” 

“ Knowing that he has deserted you twice, what leads you to 
think that he will again return to you ?” 


m 


LOST LETS ORE ; 


“ Because I know that he loves me ! He was always kind and 
affectionate. The woman, who led him astray, is no longer alive to 
misguide him ; and 1 know he will come back to me.” 

“ My poor deceived, trusting, foolish mother !” 

I only muttered the words, she did not hear them. 

Besides,” continued she, “gold is now being found here in Aus- 
tralia. Many of the miners are coming home again. I’m sure he 
will be among them. It is true, he is a little wild for his years ; 
but he will not always be so. He will return to his wife ; and wo 
shall be once more happy.” 

“ Mother ! Am 1 to understand that you refuse to accompany me 
to England ?” 

“ Roland, my son,” said she, in a reproachful tone, “ how can 
you ask me to go away from here, when I tell you that I am 
every day expecting my husband to return? Wait awhile till ha 
comes ; and then we will all go together.” 

Certainly to have said anything more to her on the subject would 
have been folly. It would be no use in trying to reason with hei 
after that proposal. The idea of my going aboard of a ship, on» 
long voyage, accompanied by Mr. Leary — even supposing the mai 
to have been in the land of the living — was too incongruous to 
entertained and at the same time preserve tranquility of spirit. 

1 was tempted to tell, that Mr. Leary had met the reward of hi 
long career of crime — or, at least, a part of it — but, when I reflect 
ed on her extreme delusions concerning the man, I feared that such 
communication might be dangerous to her mind. 

From Martha I learnt what was indeed already known to me 
that our mother had been all along willing and ready to sacrifice n<> 
only her own happiness, but that of her children, for the sake of 
this vile caitiff*. My sister told me, that when they reached Liver 
pool, and found that Mr. Leary had gone to Sydney, my mother de 
termined to follow him immediately ; and that William had bee| 
left behind in Liverpool, because she thought that coming without 
him she would be better received by the wretch whom she callel 
her husband. 

On reaching Sydney, they had found Mr. Leary passing unde* 
the name of Mathews. He was at first disposed to have nothin| 
to do with his Dublin wife ; but having come to the knowledgi 
that she was in possession of about fifteen pounds of the money r% 
ceived for her lease, he changed his mind ; and lived with her, untr 
he had spent every penny of it in drink and dissipation. 

“ Until he sailed for California,” said Martha, “ he used to com\* 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 197 

every day, and stay awhile with mother — whenever he thought that 
he could obtain a shilling by doing so ; and then we saw him no 
more. Ah, Rowland ! I have had much suffering since we were 
together. Many days have 1 gone without eating a morsel — in or- 
der that money might be saved for Mr. Leary. Oh ! 1 hope we 
shall never see him again !’* 

“ You never will see him again,” said I ; “he is gone, where our 
poor mother will be troubled with him no more ; he is dead.” 

Martha was an impulsive creature j and m her excitement at 
hearing the news, exclaimed — 

“ Thank God for it ! No ! no !” she continued, as if repenting 
what she had said, “ I don’t mean that ; but if he is dead, it will be 
well for mother : he will never trouble her again.” 

1 made known to my sister all the particulars of Leary's death. 
She agreed with me in the idea I had already entertained : that the 
intelligence could not with safety be communicated to our mother. 

“ 1 don’t believe,” said Martha, “ that any woman in this world 
ever loved a man so much as mother does Mr Leary. I am sure, 
Rowland, it would kill her, to hear what you have just told me.” 

“ But we must bring her to know it in some way,’' said 1 ; “ She 
must be told of his death : for 1 can see that she will not consent to 
leave Sydney, so long as she believes him to be alive. W e cannot 
return to England, and leave her here ; and it is evident she won’t 
go with us, while she thinks there is the slightest chance of his com- 
ing back. We must tell her that he is dead, and take chance of 
the consequences.” 

My sister made no rejoinder to my proposal ; and, while speak- 
ing, I fancied that my words, instead of being welcome, were having 
an unpleasant effect upon her ! 

Judging by the expression upon her features, I did not think it 
was fear for the result of any communication 1 might make to our 
mother ; though what caused it, 1 could not guess. 

Whenever I had spoken about returning to Europe, I observed 
that my sister did not appear at all gratified with my proposal, but 
the contrary ! 

I could not comprehend, why she should object to an arrange- 
ment. that was intended for the happiness of all. There was some 
mystery about her behaviour, that was soon to receive an elucida- 
tion — to me as unexpected, as it was painful. 


UiST LiCNUUK 




CHAP'tER XLIV. 

MT MOTHER MAD ! 

j WAS anxious at once to set sail for Liverpool — taking mj motner 
and sister along with me. Of the money I had brought from San 
Francisco, there was still left a sufficient sum to accomplish this 
purpose ; but should I remain much longer in Sydney, it would not 
be enough. I had determined not to leave my relatives m the col- 
ony ; and the next day a long consultation took place, between my- 
self and Martha, as to how we should induce our mother to return 
to England. My idea was, to let her know that Leary was dead — 
then tell her plainly of the crime he had committed, as also the 
manner of his death. Surely, on knowing these things, she would 
no longer remain blind to his wickedness ; but would see the folly 
of her own conduct, and try to forget the past, in a future, to be 
happily spent in the society of her children ! 

\ So fancied I. To my surprise, Martha seemed opposed to this 
plan of action ; though without assigning any very definite reasons 
for opposing it. 

“ Why not be contented, and live here, Rowland V* said she ; 

Australia is a fine country ; and thousands are every year coming 
to it from England. If we were there, we would probably wish to 
be back here. Then why not remain where we are 1” 

My sister may have thought this argument very rational and 
likely to affect me. It did ; but in a different way from that in- 
tended. Perhaps my desire to return to Lenore hindered me from 
appreciating the truth it contained. 

I left Martha, undetermined how to act, and a good deal dissatis- 
fied with the result of our interview\ It had produced within me a 
vague sense of pain. I could not imagine why my sister was so 
unwilling to leave the colony ; which she evidently was. 

1 was desirous to do everything in my power, to make my new 


found relatives happj. a. could not think ieav*n^ toem, enc* 
more unprotected and in poveiy ; and yet I could not, even for them, 
resign the only hope I had of again seeing Lenore. 

1 returned to the hotel, where I was staying. My thoughts were 
far trom being pleasant companions ; and I took a newspaper, in hopes 
of finding some relief from the reflections that harrassed my spirit. 
Almost the first paragraph that came under my eye was the follow 
ing 


“ Another Atrocity in California. — 

“Murder op an English Subjmit. — We have just received 
reliable information of another outrage having been committed in 
California, on one of those who have been so unfortunate as to leave 
these shores for that land of bloodshed and crime. It appears, from 
the intelligence we have received, that a woman was, or was supposed 
to have been murdered at the diggings near Sonora. The American 
population of the place, inspired by their prejudices against English 
colonists from Australia, and by their love for what, to them, seems 
a favourite amusement — Lynch law — seized the first man from the 
colonies they could find ; and hung him upon the nearest tree ! 

“We understand the unfortunate victim of this outrage is Mr. 
Matthews, a highly respectable person from this city. We call 
upon the Government of the Mother Country to protect Her Ma- 
jesty’s subjects from these constantly recurring outrages of lawless 
American mobs. Let it demand of the United States Government, 
that the perpetrators of this crime shall be brought to punishment. 
That so many of Her Majesty’s loyal subjects have been murdered, 
by blind infuriated mobs of Yankees, is enough to make any true 
Englishman blush with shame for the Government that permits it. 

“ There is one circumstance connected with the above outrage, 
which illustrates American character ; and which every Englishman 
will read with disgust. When the rope was placed around the neck 
of the unfortunate victim, a young man stepped forward, and claimed 
him as his father. This same rufiian gave the word to the mob, to 
pull the rope that hoisted their unfortunate victim into eternity. So 
characteristic a piece of American wit was, of course, received by 
a yell of laughter from the senseless mob. Comment on this case 
is unnecessary.” 

Regarding this article as a literary curiosity, 1 purchased a copy 
of the paper containing it ; by preserving which, I have been en- 
abled here to produce it in extenso. 

On reading the precious statement, one thing became very plain ; 


200 


LOST lbnore; 


that my mother could not remain much longer ignorant of Mr. 
Leary’s death ; and therefore, the sooner it should be communicated 
to her, in some delicate manner, the better it might be. It must be 
done, either by Martha or myself and at once. 

I returned forthwith to the honse — in time to witness a scene of 
great excitement. My mother had just read in the Sydney paper 
the article above quoted ; and the only description I can give, of the 
condition into which it had thrown her, would be to say, that she 
was mad — a raving lunatic ! 

Some women, on the receipt of similar news, would have fainted. 
A little cold water, or hartshorn, would have restored them to con- 
sciousness ; and their sorrows would in time have become subdued. 
My mother’s grief was not of this evanescent kind. Affection for 
Mathew Leary absorbed her whole soul ; which had received a 
mortal wound, on learning the fate that had unexpectedly, but just- 
ly, befallen the wretch. 

“ Rowland !” she screamed out, as I entered the house. “ He is 
dead ! He is murdered. He has been hung innocently, by a mob 
of wretches in California.” 

I resolved to do what is sometimes called “ taking the bull by the 
horns.” 

“ Yes, you are right, mother,” said I. “ If you mean Mr. Leary, 
he was hung innocently : for the men who did the deed were guilty 
of no wrong. Mathew Leary deserved the fate that has befallen 
him.” 

My mother’s intellect appeared to have been sharpened by her 
affliction ; for she seemed to remember every word of the article 
she had read. 

“ Rowland !” she screamed, “ you have come from California. 
You aided in murdering him. Ha ! it was you who insulted him 
in the hour of death, by calling him father. O God ! it was you.’' 

The idea of my insulting Matthew Leary, by calling him father, 
seemed to me the most wonderful and original conception, that ever 
emanated from the human mind. 

“ Ha !” continued my mother, hissing out the words. “ It was 
you that gave the word to the others — the word that brought him 
to death? You are a murderer! You are not my son I I curse 
you ! Take my curse and begone ! No ; don’t go yet ! Wait till 
I’ve done with you !” 

As she said this, she made a rush at me ; and, before 1 could get 
beyond her reach, a handful of hair was plucked from my head ! 

When finally hindered from farther assailing me, she commenced 
dragging out her own hair, all the while raving like a maniac! 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A RQLLINO STONE. 


201 


She became so violent at length, that it was found necessary to 
tie her aown ; and, acting under the orders of a physician, who had 
been suddenly summoned to the house, 1 took my departure — leavinjj 
poor Martha, weeping by the side of a frantic woman, whom we had 
the misfortune to call mother. 

How long to me appeared the hours of that dreary night. I pass 
ed them in an agony of thought, that would have been sufficient 
punishment, even for Mr. Leary — supposing him to have been pos- 
sessed of a soul capable of feeling it. 

1 actually made such reflection while tossing upon my sleepless 
couch ! 

It had one good effect : it summoned reason to my aid ; and I ask- 
ed myself : Why was I not like him, with a soul incapable of sor- 
row? What was there to cause me the agony 1 was enduring? 
I was young, and in good health ; why was I not happy ? Because 
my mother had gone mad with grief for the death of a wicked man ? 
Surely that could be no cause for the misery I myself suffered, or 
should not have been to a person of proper sense? My mother had 
been guilty of folly, and was reaping its reward. Why should I al 
low myself to be punished also ? It could not aid her : why should 
I give way to it ? 

“ But your sister is also in sorrow,” whispered some demon into 
the ear of my spirit, “ and how can you be happy ?” 

“ So are thousands of others in sorrow, and ever will be,” answer- 
ed reason. “ Let those be happy who can. The fool who makes 
himself wretched because others are, will ever meet misery, and ever 
deserve it.” 

Selfish reason counselled in rain : for care had mounted my '»oul, 
and could not be cast ofi^ 


203 


LOST LfiiTOliBi 


CHAPTER XLV. 

4 MELANCHOLY END. 

The next morning, I was forbidden by the physician to come int« 
my mother’s presence. 

He said, that her life depended on her being kept tranquil ; and 
he had learnt enough to know, that nothing would be more certain 
to injure her than the sight of myself. He feared that she would 
have an attack of brain fever ; which would probably have a fatal 
termination. 

1 saw Martha ; and conversed with her for a few minutes. My 
poor sister had also passed a sleepless night ; and like myself, was 
in great distress of mind. 

Her affliction was even greater than mine ; for she had never, 
like me, been separated from her mother. 

The physician’s fears were too soon realized. Before the day 
passed, he pronounced his patient to be under a dangerous attack 
of brain fever — a disease that, in New South Wales, does not trifle 
long with its victims. 

That night the sufferings of my unhappy mother ceased — I hope, 
for ever. 

For all that had passed, 1 felt sincere sorrow at her loss. For 
years had I been anticipating an exquisite pleasure — in sometime 
finding my relatives and providing them with a good home. I had 
found my mother at last ; only to give me a fresh sorrow — and 
then behold her a corpse ! 

If this narrative had been a work of fiction, I should perhaps have 
shaped it in a different fashion. I should have told how all my long 
cherished anticipations had been happily realized. In dealing with 
fiction, we can command, even fate, to fulfil our desires ; but in a 
narrative of real adventures, we must deal with fate as it has pre- 
sented itself, however much it may be opposed to our ideas of dra- 
matic justice. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 203 

There are moments, generally met in affliction, when the most in- 
credulous man may become the slave of superstition. Such was the 
case with myself, at that crisis, when sorrow for the loss of my 
mother, was strong upon me. 1 began to fancy that my presence 
boded death to every acquaintance or friend, with whom I chanced 
to come in contact. 

Memory brought before me, the fate of Hiram, on our “ pros- 
pecting” expedition in California j as also the melancholy end of the 
unfortunate Richard Guinane. 

My truest friend, Stormy Jack, had met a violent death, soon af- 
ter coming to reside with me ; and now, immediately after finding 
my mother, I had to follow her remains to the grave ! 

******* 

Soon after we had buried our mother, I consulted Martha as to 
what we should do. I was still desirous of returning to Liverpool; 
and, of course, taking my sister along with me. I proposed that we 
should start, without further loss of time. 

“ I am sorry you are not pleased with the colony,” said she. “ I 
know you would be, if you were to stay here a little longer. Then 
you would never wish to return.” 

“ Do not think me so foolish,” I answered, “ as to believe that I 
have come to this place with the intention of remaining ; and wish 
to leave it, without giving it a fair trial. 1 came here on business, 
that is now accomplished ; and why should I stay longer, when bus- 
iness calls me elsewhere 

“ Rowland, my brother !” cried Martha, commencing to weep. 
“ Why will you go and forsake me ?” 

“Ido not wish to forsake you, Martha,” said I. “ On the contrary, 

I wish you to go along with me. I am not a penniless adventurer 
now ; and would not ask you to accompany me to Liverpool, if I 
were not able to provide you with a home there. 1 offer you that, 
sister. Will you accept of it ?” 

“ Rowland ! Rowland !” she exclaimed ; “ do not leave me ! You 
are, perhaps, the only relative I have in the world. Oh ! you will 
not desert me.” 

“ Silence, Martha,” said I. “ Do not answer me again in that 
manner ; or we part immediately, and perhaps for ever. Did you 
not understand me ? I asked you to go with me to Liverpool ; and 
you answer, by intreating me not to desert you. Say you are willing 
to go with me ; or let me know the reason why you are not ?” 

“ I do not wish to go to Liverpool,” replied she ; “ I do not wish to 


204 


LOST LENOREJ 


leave Sydney. I have lived here for several years. It is my home •, 
and 1 don’t like to leave it — I cannot leave it, Rowland !” 

Though far from a satisfactory answer, I saw it was all I was like- 
ly to get, and that I should have to be contented with it. 1 asked 
no further questions — the subject was too painful. 

I suspected that my sister’s reasons for not wishing to leave Syd' 
ney, were akin to those that had hindered my mother from consent- 
ing to go with me. In all likelihood, my poor sister had some Mr. 
Leary for whom she was waiting ; and for whom she was suffering 
a similar infatuation 1 

It was an unpleasant reflection; and aroused all the selfishness of 
my nature. 1 asked myself : why 1 should not seek my own happi- 
ness in preference to looking after that of 4?thers, and meeting with 
worse than disappointment? 

Perhaps it was selfishness that had caused me to cross the Pacific 
in search of my relations ? I am inclined to think it was : for I cer- 
tainly did fancy, that, the way to secure my own happiness was to 
find them and endeavour to make them happy. As my efforts had 
resulted in disappointment, why should 1 follow the pursuit any 
longer — at least, in the same fashion ? 

My sister was of age. She was entitled to be left to herself — in 
whatever way she w’ished to seek her own welfare. She had a right 
to remain in the colony, if she chose to do so. 

I could see the absurdity of her trying to keep me from Lenore ; 
and could, therefore, concede to her the right of remaining in the col- 
ony. Her motive for remaining in Sydney, might be as strong as 
mine was for returning to Liverpool ? 

I had the full affection of a brother for Martha ; and yet I could be 
persuaded to leave her behind. Should 1 succeed in overcoming 
her objections — or in any manner force her to accompany me — per- 
haps misfortune might be the result ; and then the fault would be 
mine. 

At this time, there were many inducements for my remaining in 
the colonies. Astounding discoveries of gold were being daily made 
in Victoria ; and the diggings of New South Wales were richly re- 
warding all those who toiled in them. 

Moreover, I had been somewhat fascinated by the free, romantic 
life of the gold-hunter ; and was strongly tempted once more to try 
my fortune upon the gold fields. 

Still there was a greater attracticm in Liverpool. I had been too 
long absent from Lenore ; and must return to her. The desire of 
making money, or of aiding my relatives, could no longer detain me. 


OK, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONF 


205 


I must learn, whether the future was worth warring for — whether 
my reward was to be, Lenore. 

[ told my sister that I should not any more urge her to accom- 
pany me — that I should go alone, and leave her, with my best wishes 
for her future welfare. I did not even require her to tell me the 
true reasons why she was not willing to leave Sydney : for I was de- 
termined we should part in friendship. 1 merely remarked that, we 
must no more be lost to each other’s knowledge ; but that we should 
correspond regularly. 1 impressed upon her at parting — ever to 
remember that she had a brother to whom she could apply, in case 
her unexplained conduct should ever bring regret. 

My sister seemed much affected by my parting ; and I could tell 
that her motive for remaining behind was one of no ordinary 
strength. I resolved, before leaving her, to place her beyond the 
danger of immediate want. 

A woman, apparently respectable, wished some one with a little 
money to join her in the same business, in which my mother and 
Martha had been engaged. 

1 was able to give my sister what money the woman required ; 
and, before leaving, I had the satisfaction to see her established in 
the business, and settled in a comfortable home. 

There was nothing farther to detain me in Sydney — nothing, as I 
foodljf fancied* but the sea between myself ^•'d Lenore ' 


206 


LOST LSKORX; 


< 


CHAPTER XLVL 

NEWS PROM LENORX 

A LARGE clipper ship was about to sail for Liverpool ; and I paid it 
a visit — in order to inspect the accommodations it might aiford for 
a passenger. 

I made up my mind to go by this vessel ; and selected a berth in 
the second cabin. Before leaving the clipper, I came in contact 
with her steward ; and was surprised at finding in him an old ac- 
quaintance. 

I was agreeably surprised : for it was Mason — the man who had 
been steward of the ship Lenore — already known to the reader, as 
one of the men, who had assisted in setting me right with Mrs. Hyland 
and her daughter. Mason was pleased to meet me again ; and we 
had a talk over old times. 

He told me, that since leaving Liverpool he had heard of Ad- 
kins ; that he was the first officer of an American ship ; and had 
won the reputation of being a great bully. 

I told the steward in return that I had heard of Adkins myself at 
a later date — that I had, in fact, seen him, in California, where I had 
been a witness to his death, and that he had been killed for indulg- 
ing in the very propensity spoken of. 

Mason and Adkins had never been friends, when sailing together ; 
and I knew that this bit of information would not be received by 
the old steward in any very unpleasant manner. Nor was I mis- 
taken. 

“ You remember Mrs. Hyland, and her daughter said Mason, 
as we continued to talk. “ What am I thinking of? Of course you 
do : since in Liverpool the captain’s house was almost your home.” 

“ Certainly,” I answered ; “ I can never forget themr 

On saying this, 1 spoke the words of truth. 

“ Mrs. Hyland is now living in London,” the steward continued. 
‘‘She is residing with her daughter, who is married.” 

“What!” I exclaimed, “ Lenore Hyland — married 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 207 

" Yes. Have you not heard of it 1 She married the captain of 
a ship in the Australia trade ; who, after the marriage took her and 
her mother to London.” 

“ Are you sure — that — that — you cannot be mistaken ?” I asked, 
gasping for breath. 

“ Yes, quite sure,” replied Mason. “ What’s the matter 1 you 
don’t appear to be pleased at iti” 

“ Oh nothing — nothing. But what reason have you for thinking 
she is mari'ied ?” 1 asked, trying to appear indifferent. 

“ Only that I heard so. Besides, I saw her at the Captain’s house 
in London ; where I called on business. I had some notion of go- 
ing a voyage with him.” 

“ But are you sure the person you saw was Lenore — the daughter 
of Captain Hyland ?” 

“ Certainly. How could I be mistaken ! You know I was at 
Captain Hyland’s house several times, and saw her there — to say 
nothing of that scene we had with Adkins, when we were all in 
Liverpool together. I could not be mistaken : for I spoke to her 
the time I was at her house in London. She was married about two 
years before to the captain of the Australian ship — a man old enough 
to be her father.” 

What reason had I to doubt Mason’s word 1 None. 

I went ashore with a soul-sickening sensation, that caused me to 
wish myself as free from the cares of this life, as the mother I had 
lately lowered into her grave. 

How dark seemed the world ! 

The sun seemed no longer shining, to give light ; but only to 
warm my woe. 

The beacon that had been guiding my actions so brightly and 
well, had become suddenly extinguished ; and I was left in a night 
of sorrow, as dark, as I should have deserved, had my great love 
been for crime instead of Lenore ! 

What had I done to be cursed with this, the greatest, misfortune 
Fate can bestow 1 

Where was my reward for the wear of body and soul, through 
long years of toil, and with that conscientious and steadfast spirit, 
the wise tell us, must surely win ? What had I won ? Only an 
immortal woe! 

Thenceforth was I to be in truth, a “Rolling Stone;” for the 
only attraction that could have bound me to one place, or to any- 
thing — even to life itself— had forever departed from my soul. 

The world before me seemed not the one through which 1 had 


208 


LOST LKNORK I 


been straying. I seemed to have fallen from some bright field of 
manly strife, down, far down, into a dark and dreary land — there to 
wander friendless, unheeded and unloved, vainly seeking for some, 
thing, I knew not what, and without the hope, or even the desire of 
finding it. 

I could not blame Lenore. She had broken no faith with me; 
none had been plighted between us. I had not even talked to her 
of love. 

Had she promised to await my return, had she ever confessed any 
affection for me, some indignation, or contempt for her perfidy, 
might have arisen to rescue me from my fearful reflections. 

But I was denied even this slight source of consolation. There 
was nothing for which I could blame her — nothing to aid me in con- 
quering the hopeless passion, that still burned within my soul. 

I had been a fool to build such a vast superstructure of hope on«, 
foundation so flimsy and fanciful. 

It had fallen; and every faculty of my mind seemed crushed 
amid the ruins. 

In one way only was I fortunate. I was in the land where gold 
fields of extraordinary richness, had been discovered ; and 1 knew* 
that there is no occupation followed by man, calculated to so much 
concentrate his thoughts upon the present, and abstract them from 
the past, as that of gold hunting. 

Join a new rush to the gold fields, all ye who are weary in soul, 
and sorrow-laden, and the past will soon sink unheeded under the 
excitement of the present. 

I knew that this was the very thing I now required ; and, from 
the moment of receiving the unwelcome tidings communicated by 
Mason, I relinquished all thought of returning to Liverpool. 

I did not tell my sister Martha of this sudden change in my de- 
signs ; but, requesting her not to write, until she should first hear 
from me, I bade her farewell — leaving her in great grief, at my de- 
parture. 

Twenty -four hours after, I was passing out of the harbour of Syd* 
ney — in a steamer bound for the city of Melbourne. 


Ofi, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING BTOKB. 


209 


CHAPTER XLVn. 

THE VICTORIA DIGGINGS. 

Mt passage from Sydney to Melbourne, was made in the Steamei 

Shamrock and, after landing on the shore of Port Philip, I tried 
^o believe myself free from all that could attract my thoughts to 
other lands. 

I endeavoured to fancy myself once more a youth — with every* 
thing to win, and nothing to lose. 

The scenes I encountered in the young colony, favoured my ef 
forts ; and after a time, I began to take an interest in much that 
was transpiring around me. 

I could not very well do otherwise : since, to a great deal I saw 
in Melbourne, my attention was called, in a most disagreeable man- 
ner. 

Never had I been amongst so large a population, where society 
was in so uncivilized a condition. The number of men and women 
encountered in the streets in a state of beastly intoxication — the 
number of both sexes, to be seen with black eyes, and other evi- 
dences, that told of many a mutual “misunderstanding” — the horridly 
profane language issuing out of the public houses, as you passed 
them — in short, everything that met either the eye or ear of the 
stranger, proclaimed to him, in a sense not to be mistaken, that 
Melbourne must be the abode of a depraved people. There, for 
the first time in my life, I saw men allow^ed to take their seats at 
the breakfast table of an hotel, while in a state of staggering intoxi* 
cation ! 

With much that was disgusting to witness, there were some 
spectacles that were rather amusing. A majority of the men seen 
walking the streets — or encountered in the bar-rooms of public 
houses — carried grand riding-whips ; and a great many wore glitter- 
ing spurs — who had never been upon the back of a horse. 

The hotel keepers of Melbourne did not care for the custom of 
respectable people, just landed in the colony; but preferred the 


210 


LOST LENORK ; 


patronage of men from the mines — diggers who would deposit 
with them, the proceeds of their labour, in bags of gold dust ; and 
remain drunk, until told there was but five pounds of the deposit 
left — just enough to carry them back to the diggings ! 

I am not speaking of Melbourne at the present time ; but the 
Melbourne of ten years ago. It is now a fine city, where a part of 
all the world’s produce may be obtained for a reasonable price. 
Most of the inhabitants of the Melbourne of 1853 — owing to the 
facility of acquiring the means — have long since killed themselves 
off by drink and disssipation ; and a population of more respectable 
citizens, from the mother country, now supply their places. 

I made but a short stay in this colonial Gomorrah. Disgusted 
with the city, and everything in it, a few days after my arrival, I 
started off for the M’lvor diggings. 

I travelled in company with several others, who were going to 
the same place — to which we had “ chartered” a horse and dray for 
carrying our “ swags.” 

One of my travelling companions was drunk, the night before 
leaving Melbourne ; and, in consequence, could eat no breakfast on 
the morning when we were about to start. He had neglected to 
provide himself with food for the journey ; and depended on getting 
his meals at eating houses along the road. 

Before the day was over, he had become very hungry ; but would 
not accept of any food offered him by the others. 

“ No thank’ee,” he would say, when asked to have something. 

I’ll wait. We shall stop at a coffee-house before night ; and I’ll 
make it a caution to the man as keeps it. I’ll eat all before me. 
My word ! but I’ll make it a warning to him, whoever he be. He’ll 
not want to keep a coffee-house any longer.” 

This curious threat was repeated several times during the day; 
and we all expected, when evening should arrive, to see something 
wonderful in the way of consuming provisions. 

We at length reached the coffee-house, where we intended to stay 
for the night ; and called for our dinners. When told to sit down, 
we did so ; and there was placed before us a shoulder of mutton, 
from which, as was evident by the havoc made upon it, several 
hungry men had already dined. 

A loaf, baked in the ashes — known in the colonies as a “ damp 
er” — some tea, in which had been boiled a little sugar ; some salt ; 
and a pickle bottle with some dirty vinegar in it, were the concom- 
itants of the shoulder, or ** knuckle” of mutton. I had sate down to 
many such meals before ; and was therefore in no way disappoints 


OR, THE ADVENTURHS OF A ROLLIKO STONE. 2H 

ed. But the man who had been all day without eating seemed ta 
be very differently affected. According to custom, he had to pre» 
pay his four shillings, before taking his seat at the table ; and on 
seeing what he was to get for his money, he seemed rather cha^ 
grined. 

“ My word !” cried he ; “ ‘ I did say that I’d make it a warning 
to the landlord ; but my word ! — he’s made it a warning to m 3 . J 
sate down hungry, but I shall get up starving.” 

None of us could reasonably doubt the truth, thus naively enun- 
ciated by our travelling companion. 

After reaching the diggings at M’lvor, I entered into partnership 
with one of the men, who had travelled with me from Melbourne. 
We purchased a tent and tools; and at once set to work to gather 
gold. 

J udge Lynch was very much wanted on the diggings of M’lvor, 
as well as throughout all Victoria, during the first three years after 
gold had been discovered there. 

Those, who claimed to be the most respectable of the colonists, 
did not want an English colony disgraced by “ Lynch Law” — a 
wonderful bugbear to the English ear — so they allow’ed it to be dis. 
graced by ten times the number of thefts and robberies than ever 
took place in California — which they were pleased to style “ the 
land of bloodshed and crime.” 

In California miners never required to take their tools home with 
them at night. They could leave them on their claims ; and be con- 
fident of finding them there next morning. It was not so in Victo- 
ria : where the greatest care could not always prevent the digger 
from having such property stolen. I have seen — in a copy of the 
‘'‘Melbourne Argus,” of November 5th, 1852 — two hundred ani 
sixty-six advertisements offering rewards for stolen property ! Yet 
“ The London Times,” November 6th, 1852, speaks of these same 
colonies in the following terms : — “ It is gratifying to learn that 
English love of law and common sense there predominate.” 

As most of the thefts there committed were of articles, too insig. 
aificant to pay for advertising their loss, the reader may imagine 
what was the state of society in Victoria at that time ; and how far 
English love of law nd common sense predominated !” 

It was only one of the thousand falsehoods propagated by the 
truculent scribblers of this unprincipled journal ; and for which they 
may some day be called to account. 

But few of those, who committed crimes in the diggings, were 
ever brought to trial ; or in any way made answerable for their 
misdeeds. Prisoners were soinetimes sent down to Melbourne to 


212 


LOST lenore; 


be tried ; but as no one wished to be at an expense of thirty or forty 
pounds, travel a hundred miles, and lose three or four weeks of val- 
uable time to prosecute them, the result was usually an acquittal ; 
and crime was committed with impunity. 

While at M’lvor, a thief entered my tent during my absence from 
it, and stole therefrom a spyglass that had been given me by Captain 
Hyland — with some other little articles that 1 had carried long and 
far, and valued in proportion. 

I afterwards got back the glass by the aid of the police ; and very 
likely might have had the thief convicted and punished — had I felt 
inclined to forsake a good claim ; take a long journey to Melbourne, 
and spend about forty pounds in appearing against him. 

As I did not wish to undertake all this trouble pro hono publico^ 
the criminal remained unpunished. 

Becoming tired of M’lvor, I went on to Fryer’s Creek. I there 
met with a fellow -passenger from California, named Edmund Lee, 
with whom I joined partnership ; but after toiling awhile without 
much success, we proceeded to a large rush at Jones’ Creek — a dis- 
tance of thirty-five miles from Fryer’s. 

We started in the afternoon, and stopped the first night at a place 
called Castlemain. 

That evening I saw more drunken men than I had met during a 
whole year spent in the diggings of California — where the sale of 
intoxicating liquor was unrestricted, while on the gold fields of Vic- 
toria it was strictly prohibited by law. Indeed, about four hundred 
mounted troopers and policemen were in Castlemain at the time, 
for the purpose of maintaining “ English law and order and those 
selling intoxicating drinks were liable to a fine of fifty pounds or 
imprisonment, or both. One vice, so prevalent in California, was 
not to be observed on the gold fields of Victoria. In the latter 
there were no gambling-houses. 

After leaving Castlemain, we walked about twenty-five miles; 
and stopped all night at “ Simpson’s Station.” 

On this pasture I was told there were sixteen thousand head of 
sheep. 

Before reaching Simpson’s, we passed a station, on which the 
sheep were infected with a disease, resembling the “ shab.” Car- 
casses of the dead were everywhere to be seen ; and those, that were 
still alive, were hardly able to drag along the few locks of wool 
clinging to their sky-coloured skins. 

On Sunday, the 14th day of August, 1853, we reached the dig 
gings on Jones’ Creek ; where we found about ten thousand people, 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 


213 


but no place where we could procure a meal of victuals, or a night’s 
lodging ! 

That the reader may have some idea of the hardships to which 
diggers were then often exposed, I shall make known of the man- 
ner of our life, while residing at J ones’ Creek. 

We first purchased some blankets; and with these, some poles 
and pieces of string, we constructed a sort of tent. At none of the 
stores could we find a utensil for cooking meat ; and we were com- 
pelled to broil it over the fire on the end of a stick. Sometimes we 
could buy bread that had come from Bendigo ; for which we had to 
pay six shillings the loaf of three and a half pounds weight ! When 
unable to get this, we had to purchase flour at a proportionate 
price ; knead it into dough ; and roast it in the ashes. 

There was no place of amusement at Jones’ Creek ; and a strong 
police force was stationed there, to suppress the sale of liquors ; or, 
rather, to arrest those who sold it ; and also to hunt diggers for 
what was called the “ Gold License.” 

The precious metal at this place was found very unevenly distri- 
buted through the gullies ; and while some were making fortunes 
by collecting it, others were getting next to nothing. 

The gold was found in “ nuggets” — lying in “ pockets” of the 
slate rock ; and not a fragment could be obtained till these pockets 
had been explored. 

The day after our arrival, my partner and I marked off two 
claims. Being unable to hold them, we took our choice of the two ; 
and gave the other one away to some men, with whom we had be- 
come slightly acquainted. 

The top earth from both claims was removed — disclosing not a 
speck of gold in that we had retained ; while twenty-four pounds 
weight were picked out — without washing — from the claim we had 
given away ! 

Lee and I remained at Jones’ Creek three weeks ; worked hard ; 
made nothing ; and then started back for Fryer’s, where our late 
partners were still toiling. 

On our way back we halted for dinner — where some men with a 
dray load of stores— on their way to one of the diggings ; had also 
stopped for their mid-day meal. 

We had neglected to bring any sugar with us ; and wished to buy 
some for our coffee. The men with the dray did not wish to sell 
any ; but we insisted on having it at any price. 

“We’ll let you have a pannikin full of sugar,” said one, “but 
shall charge you ten shillings for it.” 


214 


LOST lbnore; 


“All right,” said my companion, Edmund Lee. “It’s cheap 
enough — considering.” 

The man gave us the sugar ; and then refused to take the money. 
He was not so avaricious, as we had supposed. He had thought, by 
asking ten times the usual price, to send us away, without being 
obliged to part with what he might himself soon stand in need of. 

On the evening of the second day of our journey, about nine 
o’clock, we reached the banks of Campbell’s Creek — within four 
miles of the place we were making for. 

Rain had been falling all the day ; and the stream was so swollen, 
that we could not safely cross it in the darkness. 

The rain continued falling, and we spread our wet blankets on 
the ground. We prayed in vain for sleep; since we got none 
throughout that long, dreary night. 

Next morning we arose early — more weary than when we had 
lain down ; and, after fording the stream, we kept on to Fryer’s 
Creek — which we reached in a couple of hours. 

We had been without food, since the noon of the day before ; 
and from the way we swallowed our breakfast, our former mates 
might have imagined we had eaten nothing during the whole time 
of our absence ! 


TH£ ADVEKTURflfl OF A ROLLLNO STONS. 


215 


CHAPTER XLVm. 

THE STOLEN NUGGET. 

I WORKED a claim in German Gully, Fryer’s Creek, in partnership 
with two men, of whom I knew very little ; and with whom — ex* 
cept during our hours of labour — I held scarce any intercourse. 

One of them was a married man ; and dwelt in a large tent with 
his wife and family. The other lived by himself in a very small 
tent — that stood near that of his mate. Though both were strangers 
to me, these men knew each other well ; or, at all events, had been 
associates for several months. I had been taken i nto their partner- 
ship, to enable them to work a claim, which had proved too exten- 
sive for two. The three of us, thus temporarily acting together, 
were not what is called on the diggings “ regular mates though 
my two partners stood to one another in this relationship. 

The claim proved much better than they had expected ; and I 
could tell, by their behaviour, that they felt some regret, at having 
admitted me into the partnership. 

We were about three weeks engaged in completing our task, 
when the gold we had obtained was divided into three equal por- 
tions each taking his share. The expenses incurred in the work 
were then settled ; and the partnership was considered at an end — 
each being free to go where he pleased. 

On the morning after, I was up at an early hour ; but, early as it 
was, I noticed that the little tent, belonging to the single man, was 
no longer in its place. I thought its owner might have pitched it 
in a fresh spot : but, on looking all around, I could not see it. 

My reflection was ; that the single man must have gone away from 
the ground. 

I did not care a straw, whether he had or not. If I had a wish one 
way or the other, it was to know that he had gone ; for he was an 
individual whose room by most people would have been pre- 
ferred to his company. For all that, I wa^ somewhat surprised at 


216 


LOST LENORE ; 


his disappearance ; first, hecause he had not said anything of his in. 
tention to take leave of us in that unceremonious manner; and 
secondly, because I did not expect him to part from his mate, until 
some quarrel should separate them. As 1 had heard no dispute — 
and one could not have occurred without my hearing of it, the man’s 
absence was a mystery to me. 

It was soon after explained by his comrade ; who came over to 
my tent, as I suppose for that very purpose. 

“ Have you noticed,” said he, “ that Tom’s gone away ?” 

“ Yes,” I answered ; I see that his tent had been removed ; and 
I supposed that he had gone.” 

“ When I woke up this morning,” continued the married man, 
“ and saw that he had left between two days, I was never mor^ 
surprised in my life.” 

Indeed !” 

“ I had a good deal of respect for Tom, and fancied he had the 
same for me. I thought we should work together, as long as we 
stayed on the diggings; and for him to leave, without saying a 
word about his going, quite stunned me. My wife, however, was 
not at all surprised at it — when I told her that he had gone away. 
She said she expected it ; and only wondered he had had the cheek 
to stay so long.” 

“ I asked her what she meant. By way of reply she brought me 
this nugget.” 

As the man finished speaking, he produced from his pocket a lump 
of gold — weighing about eighteen ounces — and held it up before my 
eyes. 

“ But what has this to do with your partner’s leaving you ?” ) 
asked. 

“ That’s just the question I put to my wife,” said the man. 

And what answer did she make ?” 

“She said, that : after we had been about a week working in the 
claim, she was one day making some bread ; and when she had used 
up the last dust of flour in the tent, she found that she wanted a 
handful to sprinkle over the outside of the damper — to keep it from 
sticking to the pan. With her hands in the dough, she didn’t care 
to go to the store for any ; but stepped across to Tom’s tent to get 
a little out of his bag. There was no harm in this : for we were so 
well acquainted with him, that we knew he would not consider it 
much of a liberty. My wife had often before been into his hut, to 
borrow different articles ; and Tom knew of it, and, of course, had 
said, all right. Well, on the day I am speaking of she went in af- 
ter the flour ; md, putting her hand into the bag to take some 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


317 


out, she laid her fingers on this here lump of yellow metal. Don’t 
you see it all now ? It’s plain as a pike-staff. Tom had found the 
nugget, while working alone in the claim ; and intended to keep it 
for himself, without letting either of us know anything about it. He 
was going to rob us of our share of the gold. He has turned out a 
d — ^ thief.” 

“ Certainly, it looks like it,” said 1. 

** I know it,” emphatically asserted Tom’s old associate. “ I 
know it •. for he has worked with me all the time he has been on 
the diggings ; and he had no chance to get this nugget anywhere 
else. Besides, his haring it hid in the flour-bag is proof that he did 
not come honestly by it. He never intended to let us know any- 
thing about it. My wife is a sharp woman ; and could see all this, 
the moment she laid her hands upon the nugget. She didn’t let it 
go neyther, but brought it away with her. When Tom missed it — 
which he must have done that very day — he never said a word 
about his loss. He was afraid to say anything about it ; because 
ho knew I would ask him how he came by it, and why he had not 
n^entioned it before. That of itself is proof of his having stolen it 
out of our claim.” 

There was no doubt but that the married man and his ’’sharp” 
wife were correct in their conjecture ; which was a satisfactory ex- 
planation of Tom’s strange conduct, in taking midnight leave of us. 
He had kept silent, about losing the nugget, because he was not cer- 
tain how or where it had gone ; and he had not left immediately af 
ter discovering his loss, because the claim was too good to be given 
up for such a trifle. By this attempt to rob us, he had lost the 
share of the nugget^ — which he would have been entitled to — while 
his fears, doubts, and other unpleasant reflections, arising out of the 
transaction, must have punished him far more effectually than the 
loss of the lump of gold. He could not have been in a very pleas- 
ant humour with himself, while silently taking down his little tent, 
and sneaking off in the middle of the night to some other diggings, 
where he might chance to be unknown. I have often witnessed lu- 
dicrous illustrations of the old adage, that “ honesty is the best poli- 
cy but never one plainer, or better, than Tom’s unsuccessful at- 
tempt at abstracting the nugget. 

There is, perhaps, no occupation, in which men have finer oppor- 
tunities of robbing their partners, than that of gold digging. And 
yet I believe that instances of the kind — that is, of one mate rob- 
bing another — are very rare upon the gold fields. During my long 
experience in the diggings — both of California and Australia — 1 
knew of but two such cases. 


218 


LOST LBNORF 


The man who brought me the nugget, taken from Tom’s tenl^ 
was, like the majority of gold diggers, an honest person. His dis^ 
closing the secret was proof of this : since it involved the sharing 
of the gold with me, which he at once offered to do. 

1 did not accept of his generous offer ; but allowed him to keep 
the whole of it ; or, rather, presented it to his “ very clever wife,” 
' — ^wbo had certainly done something towards earning a share in it. 


OR, THE ADVEKTUKES OF A ROLLING STONE. 

CHAPTER XLIX. 


219 


A FEARFUL FRIGHT. 

After finishing my explorations on Fryer’s Creek, I went, in com- 
pany with my “ regular mates,” to Ballarat ; which was the placo 
where “ jeweller’s shops” were then being discovered. 

The gold on this field was found in “ leads” — that lay about one 
hundred and sixty feet below the surface of the ground. 

The leads were generally but one claim in width ; and no party 
could obtain a claim on either of them, without first having a fight 
to get, and several others to keep possession of it. 

My mates and 1 succeeded in entering a claim on Sinclair’s Hill ; 
and, during the time we were working it, we had five distinct en- 
counters with would-be intruders — in each of which my friend Ed- 
mund Lee had an opportunity of distinguishing himself; and, by 
his fistic prowess, gained great applause from a crowd of admiring 
spectators. 

I have often been in places where my life was in danger, and 
where the passion of fear had been intensely excited within me ; but 
never was 1 more frightened than on one occasion — while engaged 
in this claim upon Sinclair’s Hill. 

We were sinking the shaft; and I was down in it — at a depth of 
one hundred and twenty feet from the surface of the earth. One 
of my mates — as the readiest place to get clear of it — had thrown 
his oil -cloth coat over the windlass. Ttje coat, thus carelessly 
placed, slipped off; and came down the shaft — in its descent caus- 
ing a rustling, roaring noise, that, to me below, sounded somewhat 
like thunder 

I looked up. All was dark above ; and the idea occurred to me, 
that the shaft had given way at the “ drift” — a place about sixty 
feet above my head, where we had gone through a strata of wet 
sand. The noisy coat at length reached the bottom, and I found 
myself unhurt ; but, so frightened had I been, that I was unable to 
go on with my work — until after I had gone up to the surface, 
swallowed a glass of brandy, and taken a few draws of the pipe. 

The business of mining, in the Victoria diggings, is attended with 
considerable danger ; and those who conduct it should be men of 
temperate habits — as well as possessed of some judgment. Every 
one on the gold-fields, being his own master — and guided only by 
his own will — of course there are many who work in a reckless 
manner, and often under the influence of drink. As a consequence, 
accidents are, or were at that time, of daily occurrence. 


820 


LOST LENORB J 


When an accident resulted from intoxication, it was generally 
not the drunken man himself — but his mate — who was the sufferer 
— the latter having a bucket, or some heavy implement, dropped 
upon his head, from a height of a hundred feet. 

Gold miners, as a class, are exceedingly indifferent to danger ; 
and careless about the means of avoiding it. They wifi often con- 
tinue to work in a shaft, that they know must soon “ cave” in ; but 
they do so under the hope, that the accident will occur during the 
night, or while they are at dinner. So long as there is a possibility 
of their escaping, hope tells them they are “ all right” — too often a 
deceitful tale. 

While engaged in gold digging, I had frequent opportunies of 
testing a doctrine often put forward by tobacco-smokers ; that the 
** weed” is a powerful antidote to fear. Several times have 1 been 
under ground, where I believed myself in danger ; and have been 
haunted by fear that kept me in continued agony, until my pipe was 
lit — ^when my apprehensions seemed at once to vanish literally in a 
cloud of smoke. 

There is something in the use of tobacco, that is unexplained, or 
untaught, in any work of philosophy, natural or unnatural, that I 
have yet read. The practice of smoking is generally condemned, 
by those who do not smoke. But certainly, there are times, when 
a man is the better for burning a little tobacco ; although the im- 
moderate use of it, like all other earthly blessings, may be convert- 
ed into a curse. 

My readers may think, that a disquisition on tobacco can have 
but little to do with the Adventures of a Rolling Stone. But why 
should they object to knowing my opinions of things in general, 
since the adventures themselves have been often either caused or 
controlled by these very opinions ? I have entered into a minute 
detail of my experience in mining affairs, under the belief, that nc 
sensible reader will think it uninteresting ; and, still continuing in 
this belief, I purpose going a little farther into the subject. 

While engaged in gold digging, I have often been led to notice 
the influence of the mind over the physical system. 

In washing dirt that contains but little gold, the body soon be- 
comes weary — so much so, that the work is indeed toil. On the 
ocher hand, when the ‘ dirt ’ is rich,’ the digger can exert himself 
energetically from sunrise to sunset ; without feeling fatigued at 
the termination of such a long spell of incessant labour. 

To the business of mining — as in most other occupations — there 
are certain schemes and tricks, by which men may deceive each 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


22i 


other, and sometimes themselves. Gold is often very ingeniously 
inserted into fragments of quartz rock — in order to facilitate the 
sale of shares in a “ reef.” 

I made the acquaintance of several diggers who had been deceiv- 
ed in this way ; and whose eyes became opened to the trick, only 
after the tricksters had got out of their reach. On the other hand, 
1 onee saw a digger refuse to purchase a shaie in a reef, from which 
‘‘ splendid specimens ” had been procured — fearing that some trick- 
ery was about to be practised upon him. One month afterwards, I 
saw him give, for the same share, just twenty times the amount 
that he had been first asked for it ! 

I remember a party of “ Tasmanians,” who had turned up a large 
extent of ground, in a claim on Bendigo. The richest of the earth 
they washed as it was got out ; and of the rest they had made a 
large heap, of what is called “ wash dirt, No. 2.” 

This, they knew, would not much more than pay for the washing; 
and, as a new “ rush” had just been heard of, at a place some miles 
off, they resolved to sell their “ wash dirt, No. 2.” 

Living near by the diggings was a sort of doctor, who used to 
speculate, in various ways, in the business of gold mining. To this 
individual the Tasmanian diggers betook themselves ; and told him, 
that they had received private intelligence, from the new rush ; and 
that they must start for it immediately, or lose the chance of making 
their fortunes. For that reason, they wished to sell their ‘‘ wash 
dirt,” which they knew to be worth at least two ounces to the 
‘‘ load ;” but, as they must be off to the new rush,” they were not 
going to higgle about price ; and would take twelve ounces for the 
pile — they thought, in all, about thirty loads. 

The doctor promised to go down the next morning, and have a 
look at it. In the evening the “ Tasnianians” repaired to an ac- 
quaintance, who was unknown to the doctor ; and requested him to 
be sauntering about their dirt heap in the morning, and to have 
with him a washing-dish. They further instructed him — in the 
event of his being asked to wash a dish of the dirt — that he was to 
take a handful from that part of the heap where he might observe 
a few sparks of white quartz. 

Next morning the doctor came, as he had promised ; but declined 
to negotiate, without first having some of the dirt washed, and as- 
certaining the ‘‘ prospect.” 

“We have no objection to that,” said one of the proprietors of 
the dirt heap, speaking in a confident tone. 

“ Oh ! not the slightest, doctor,” added a second of the party. 


222 


LOST lenore; 


Yonder’s a man with a washing dish,” remarked a third. “Sujv 
pose you get him to prove some of it?” 

The man, apparently unconnected with any of the party, was at 
once called up ; and was told, that the dirt was to be sold ; and 
that the Intending purchaser wished to see a “ prospect^' washed, by 
some person not interested in the sale. He was then asked, if he 
had any objections to wash a dish or two from the heap. 

Of course he had not — not the slightest — anything to oblige 
them. 

“ Take a little from everywhere,” said one of the owners, “ and 
that will show what the average will yield.” 

The confederate did as requested; and obtained a “prospect” 
that proclaimed the dirt probably to contain about four ounces to 
the load. 

The doctor was in a great hurry to give the diggers their price — 
and in less than ten minutes became the owmer of the heap. 

The dirt had been, what the diggers call, “ salted and, as was 
afterwards proved, the speculating doctor did not get from it enough 
gold to pay the expenses of washing. 

At Ballarat my partners and I were successful in our attempts at 
gold-hunting; and yet we were not satisfied with the place. Very 
few diggers are ever contented with the spot upon which they hap- 
pen to be. Rumours of richer fields elsewhere are always floating 
about on the air; and these are too easily credited. 

In the latter part of the year 1853, a report reached the diggings 
of Victoria ; that very rich “ placers” had been discovered in Peru. 

There is now good reason for believing, that these stories w ere 
originated in Melbourne ; that they w'ere set afoot, and propagated 
by ship agents and skippers; wdio wished to send their ships to 
Callao, and wanted passengers to take in them — or, rather, wanted 
the money which these passengers would have to pay. 

Private letters were shown — purporting to have come from Peru 
— that gave glowing descriptions of the abundance of gold glitter- 
ing among the “ barrancas” of the Andes. 

The Colonial papers did w'hat they could to restrain the rising 
excitement ; and, although they were partly successful, their coun- 
ter-statements did not prevent many hundreds from becoming vic- 
tims, to the trickery of the dishonest persons, at that time engaged 
in the shipping business of Melbourne. 

A majority of those, who were deluded into going to Peru, were 
Americans, Canadians, and Frenchmen — probably for the reason 


OB, THK ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 

that they were more dissatisfied with Australia, than the colonists 
themselves. 

Amongst the victims of the “ Callao fever” I have to record my- 
self — along with two of my partners — Edmund Lee and another. 
All three of us being too simple-minded to suspect the trick, or too 
ready to yield to temptation, we set off for Melbourne ; and thence 
set sail across the far-stretching Pacific. 


LOST Lli:^OKK; 


2 !^ 


CHAPTER L. 

THE CALLAO GOLD FEVER. 

There could not well have been a more uninteresting voyage, than 
the one we made to Callao. There was about one hundred and fifty 
passengers on board — most of them young and wild adventurers. 

The master of the vessel had the good sense not to attempt the 
game of starving us. Had he done so, it would have obtained for 
him an unpleasant popularity. We had no ground for complaint 
on the score of food. 

The principal amusements on board the ship was that of gam- 
bling ; but it was carried on in a quiet manner ; and we had no 
rows leading to any serious disaster. We had no particular excite- 
ment of any kind ; and for this reason I have pronounced the voy- 
age uninteresting. For all that, it was not an unpleasant one. I have 
no hesitation in asserting that, with the same number of diggers of the 
pure Australian type, that long voyage, before its termination, 
would have resembled a “ hell aboard ship.” 

When at length we reached Callao, it was simply to find ourselves 
laughed at for leaving Victoria ! We had left behind us a land of 
gold ; and made a long sea voyage to discover that we had been 
« gulled.” 

No one appeared to be at all disappointed. Every one was heard 
to say, “ It’s just as 1 expected !” 1 may have said so to myself — 

I don’t remember whether I did or not — but I admit now, that I 
thought myself “ some” deceived ; and 1 believe that each of my 
fellow passengers felt something like myself ; and that was, strongly 
inclined to kill either himself, or some one else, for having been so 
damnably duped. 

To have heard most of them talk, you could scarce have believed 
that there had been any disappointment. Many alleged that they 
had been satisfied with the colonies ; and only came to Peru to see 
that celebrated country, which they had long desired to do. 

Some of them claimed, that they had only left the gold fields of 


OR, THK ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 225 

Victoria on a sea voyage, in order to recuit their strength ; and that 
they intended to return and pursue the avocation of gold digging 
with greater energy than ever. 

Most of the Americans declared, that, they were on their way 
home across the Isthmus of Panama. 

No one would acknowledge, that he had been made a fool of. 
Each, according to his own showing, had come to Callao for some 
wise purpose ; which he was anxious to explain to the rest — not- 
withstanding the obvious difficulty of obtaining credence for his 
story. 

About half those who were the victims of this gold digging delu- 
sion, became also victims to the fevers of Peru. Some proceeded 
up the coast to California ; others did go home by the Isthmus of 
Panama ; while a few returned to Australia. 

In Callao 1 parted with my friend Edmund Lee, who was one of 
those who took the Panama route, on his way back to the United 
States. 

He was returning to a happy home, where he would meet those 
— and there were many of them — who would rejoice at his return 

There was no such home for me. I was alone in the world — a 
Rolling Stone — with no one to love — no one who cared for me, and 
no place, except the spot under my feet, that I could call home. 

Lee was a young man who won the esteem of all with whom he 
came in contact, at least, all whose respect was of any value. 

I parted from him with much regret. Before bidding adieu, we 
made arrangements to correspond with each other; and I have 
heard from him several times since. He is now, or ought to be liv- 
ing in Lowell, in the State of Massachusets. 

In the first ship “ up” for Melbourne, I engaged a passage — re- 
solved upon returning to the gold fields of Victoria. 

The vessel had arrived three weeks before, freighted with a full 
cargo of deluded diggers ; and the captain was now about to ex- 
tract from them some more of their money, by taking them back. 

On board there was one young man, who had come to Peru 
as a passenger. He had not the money to take him back ; and, be- 
ing a seamen, he had joined the ship as one of her crew. We sailed 
late in the afternoon, and were some time getting out of the harbor. 
About ten o’clock at night this young man was at the wheel ; where 
he was spoken to by the captain in a very harsh, unpleasant tone. It 
was said that the skipper was intoxicated ; and that he not only 
spoke in the manner described, but struck the young sailor without 
the slightest cause or provocation. The exact truth will never be 


226 


LOST LBNORE ; 


told. The night was very dark ; and all that was certainly known 
is : that the sailor drew his knife ; plunged it in the captain’s body, 
and then jumped overboard into the sea. 

As the captain had evidently received a mortal wound, the ship 
was put about ; and brought back to her anchorage within the har- 
bour. The captain was carried below ; and for three or four hours 
he did nothing but swear, and threaten to kill the sailor who had 
stabbed him. His senses had forsaken him ; and it was impossible 
to make him understand, that the young man had leaped overboard, 
and was in all probability at that moment fifty fathoms under the 
sea. 

The captain had a wife and two children aboard ; and what with 
the noise made by them, and his own wild ravings, not a soul^ 
either among crew or passengers, slept during that night. By six 
o’clock in the morning, the wounded man had ceased to live. 

Three days after, another captain was sent aboard by the agents ; 
and we again set sail for Melbourne. 

Nothing was heard of the sailor previous to our leaving the port 
or ever afterwards. At the time he jumped overboard lights wer« 
to be seen, shining on many vessels in the harbour ; and some be- 
lieved that he might have reached either a ship, or the shore. There 
was not much probability of his having been saved. Both ships 
and shore were too distant for him to have swum to either In all 
likelihood he preceded the captain, into that unknown world fronj 
which there is no return. 

Very few, either of the passengers or crew, blamed the young 
sailor for what he had done. The captain had the reputation of 
being a “ bully and his having commenced practising his tyranny 
so early on the voyage — and especially on the man at the wheel, 
who, while there, should have remained unmolested — gave evidence 
that had he continued to command the ship, our passage across the 
Pacific might have proved of a character anything but peaceful.” 

The skipper, who succeeded him, was a man of a different dispo- 
sition. He soon became a favourite with all on board ; and we had 
both a quick and pleasant passage to Melbourne — where we arrived 
without any further accident or obstruction. 

When setting foot for the second time on Australian soil, I found 
the city of Melbourne greatly changed — I am happy to say — for the 
better. 

An attempt was being made at keeping the streets clean. Old 
buildings had been taken down ; and new ones erected in their 


OR, THlt AOVXNTURS3 OX JL ROLUVO 8TONX. 22 ^ 

stead. The citizens, too, were better dressed ; and looked, as well 
as acted, more like human beings. 

At the public-houses customers were served with food fitting to 
eat ; and were also treated with some show of civility. The num- 
ber of people who formerly seemed to think, that a public-house 
keeper held a higher social position than the governor himself, had 
become greatly diminished. They were now in a decided minority. 

Men were no longer afraid during night hours, to trust them, 
selves alone in the streets ; and they did not as formerly, issue ii) 
armed bands from the public-houses to protect hemselves from be- 
ing robbed, while going to their homes, or repairing to places of 
amusement. 

Men found lying drunk in the gutters were now in some danger 
of being placed upon a stretcher, and taken away by the police. 

The convict element was greatly upon the decrease ; and the pro. 
fane language, imported from the slums of London, was not so dis- 
gustingly universal. 

I have hurried through the narrative of my voyages from Mel- 
bourne to Callao and back, for two reasons. First, because nothing 
very interesting occured to me during either ; aud secondly, because 
I feel somewhat ashamed at having been so ridiculously deluded ; 
and have therefore no desire to dwell upon the details of that ill- 
itarred expedition. 


228 


LOST LSNOBJS; 


CHAPTER LI. 

THE YARRA-YABRi.. 

SooK after my return from Callao, I accompanied two acquaintances 
upon a hunting expedition up the Yarra-Yarra. 

There is some beautiful scenery along the banks of this river — 
beautiful, as curves of shining water, bordered by noble forms oi 
vegetable life can make it. 

• There is some pleasure to be found in a hunting excursion in Aus 
tralia, although it does not exactly consist in the successful pursuil 
of game. 

In the morning and afternoon, when your shadow is far prolonged 
over the greensward and you breathe the free genial atmosphere c/ 
that sunny clime, an exhilerating effect is produced upon your spirits 
a sort of joyous consciousness of the possession of youth, health an> 
happiness* To breathe the evening atmosphere of Australia is | 
become inspired with hope. If despair should visit the soul of on^ 
to whom fate has been unkind, it will come in the midday hours 
but even then, the philosopher may find a tranquil contentment b 
lying under the shade of a “ she oak,” and imbibing the smoke 
the Nicotian Weed. 

One of my companions in the chase chanced to have, living aboiv 
twenty miles up the river, an acquaintance, who had often invite^ 
him to make a visit to his “ station.” 

Our comrade had decided to accept the invitation, taking the tvv> 
of us along with him, though we were in no haste to reach our dc/ 
tination, so long as we could find amusement by the way. 

The squatters, living on their “ stations” — at a distance from larg 
towns, or assemblages of the digging population — are noted for thei 
hospitality. They lead, in general, a lonely life ; and, for this reiv- 
son, visitors with whom they can converse, and who can bring the> 
the latest news from the world of society, are ever welcome. 


OR, THE ADVENTITRES OF A ROLLING STONE. 22S 

Both the climate and customs of Australia make yisitors less 
troublesome to their hosts, than in almost any other part of the 
world. 

The traveller is usually provided with his own blankets, carried 
in a roll ; and these, wrapped around him in the open air, he pre- 
fers to the best bed his host could provide for him. 

All that we should require from our comrade’s acquaintance 
would be his company, with plenty of substantial food ; and with 
this last article the squatters of Australia are abundantly supplied. 

Not wishing to make a toil, of an excursion intended for amuse- 
ment, we had purchased an old horse ; on which we had packed 
our blankets, with a few articles of food to sustain us, till we should 
reach the station of the squatter. 

We might have accomplished the journey in a single day ; but 
walking twenty miles within twelve hours, was too much like work ; 
and on the first night after leaving Melbourne, we had only made 
about half the distance ! 

We had sauntered leisurely along, and spent at least three or four 
hours under the shade of the trees growing by the side of the road. 

This style of travelling appeared to suit the old horse, as much 
as his masters. It was an animal that had seen its best days ; and 
seemed averse to any movement that called for a high degree of 
speed. Like most of his kind, in the colonies, he was as much at 
home in one place as in another ; and, wherever we stopped for re- 
pose, he appeared to think that the halt was made for his especial 
accommodation. 

We did not make much effort to undeceive him. He had seen 
hard times ; and we were, probably, the best masters that had ever 
owned him. 

On the second morning, shortly after resuming our journey, we 
observed some hills, thickly covered with timber — at some distance 
to the right of our road. We diverged from the direct path — to see 
whether we could not find a kangaroo, or some other harmless crea- 
ture, possessing a happy existence, that might be put an end to. 

This undertaking was a success— so far as the kangaroos were 
concerned — since we were not able to do injury to any of these 
creatures. 

We caught a glimpse of two or three of them, at a distance; but 
after roaming about the timbered ranges for several hours, we did 
not succeed to get within killing distance of any of them. 

We returned to the bank of the rjver — just in time to form our 


230 


LOST lsnore; 


bivouac, before the night fell upon us — having accomplished during 
the day, about four miles in the direction in which we intended go- 
ing ! 

“ I am a little disgusted with hunting,” said one of my compan- 
ions, whose name was Vane. “I move that in the morning we 
keep on to the station ; and see what amusement is to be found 
there.” 

This proposition was carried, by a majority of three. The horse, 
being indifferent on the subject, was permitted to remain neutral. 

“ What amusement shall we find at your friend’s house?” asked 
Vane of my other companion — who was the one acquainted with 
the squatter, we were on the way to visit. 

“Well ; I suppose we can have some hunting there,” replied the 
individual thus interrogated ; and who always answered in a polite 
manner, to the name of “ Cannon.” 

“No, thank you,” said Vane. “We’ve had enough of that sort 
of thing to-day. I don’t want any more of it.” 

“ But at the station we shall be provided with horses,” suggested 
Cannon ; “ and, when we get sight of a kangaroo, we can run the 
animal down.” 

“ That make’s a difference,” said Vane ; “ and 1 don’t mind try- 
ing it for a day. But is there no other amusement to be had at 
your friend’s house ?” 

“ Not that I know of — unless you make love to my friend’s pret- 
ty daughter.” 

“Ah! that would be amusement,” exclaimed Vane, evidently a 
little stirred by the communication. 

“ Is she good-looking ?” he asked. 

“ Yes ; extremely good-looking. But, remember, comrades,” 
continued Cannon, “ I will allow no serious love-making.” 

“ Give yourself no uneasiness about that,” rejoined Vane. “ In 
love affairs, I am never serious. Are you ?” he asked, turning to 
me. 

“ Yes ; very serious,” I answered, thinking of Lenore. 

“ Then you will never be successful,” said Vane. 

I passed half-an hour in a fruitless endeavour to comprehend the 
philosophy of this remark ; after which I fell asleep. 

Next morning, we resumed our route for the squatter’s station ; 
and had got about three miles along the road, when we came to a 
plain, entirely destitute of timber. Upon this plain was a drove of 
about a hundred horses. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLUNQ STONE, 


231 


They remained motionless, with heads erect, and nostrils spread, 
Until we had approached within fifty yards of them. They then 
turned, and galloped off at the top of their speed. 

At this moment a change suddenly showed itself in the demeanour 
of our old roadster. We had been driving him before us, for the 
last mile or two, with great difficulty ; but on seeing his congeners 
take to flight, he suddenly threw up his head ; and, either calling 
out to the drove that he was coming, or to us that he was going, he 
started towards them. Before we could get hold of his bridle, he 
was beyond reach, going at a rate that promised soon to place him 
among the foremost of the herd. 

We had supposed that our hack belonged to some “serious fami- 
ly” of horses; and that the natural sedateness of his disposition 
had been augmented by years of toil and starvation. We were 
never more disappointed, than when on seeing him forsake us in 
the fashion he did. A two-year old could not have gone more gaily. 

Cannon and Vane started off in pursuit of him ; but, as I had a 
little more experience in colonial horses, than either of my compan- 
ions, I bade good-bye both to our roadster and my roll of blankets ; 
and, stretching myself under the shade of a tree, I resolved to await 
their return. 

1 did wait. One hour passed ; then another ; and a third ; and 
still my companions did not come back. 

“ I am a fool for remaining here,” reflected I. “ The squatter’s 
station cannot be more than five miles distant ; and they have prob- 
ably gone there ? The herd of horses undoubtedly belongs to it ; 
and my companions have followed them home 1” 

Influenced by these conjectures, 1 once more rose to my feet ; and 
continued the journey, that had been so unexpectedly interrupted. 


LOti'i' LtiHOmi 




CHAPTER LIL 


JESSIE. 


Thi path led me along the bank of a river. It was the Yarra-Yarra. 

As I moved onward, I began to perceive, that I had not been 
such a fool, after all, in having waited awhile for my companions. 
My long quiet reverie, in the shade of the tree, had refreshed me. 
I had escaped the hot sunshine ; and 1 should now be able to reach 
my destination, during the cool hours of evening. 

I did not wish to arrive at the station before Cannon ; as I should 
require him to introduce me. 

My solitary journey was altogether an agreeable one. The bright 
waters of the Yarra-Yarra flowed by my side ; while the gentle 
breeze, as it came softly sighing through the peppermint-trees, 
fanned my brow. 

After advancing, as I supposed, a distance of about four miles — > 
hearing only the cries of the screaming cockatoo, and the horribly 
human voice of the laughing jackass — I was suddenly and agreeably 
surprised by the barking of a dog. The animal could not be far 
off ; and it was also in the direction 1 was going ; up the river. 

“ The station cannot be distant ?” thought 1 ; and eager to catch 
a glimpse of it, I Hastened forward. I had scarce made a step fur- 
ther, when I was startled by a piercing scream. It was a human 
voice — the voice of a woman. She who gave utterance to it must 
be near the spot, concealed by some wattle-bushes on the bank of 
the river ? 

I rushed forward ; and glided through the bushes into the open 
ground beyond. I perceived a young woman just on the point of 
les ' into the river ! 



My abrupt appearance seemed to cause a change in her design. 
Suddenly turning towards me, she pointed to the water, at the same 
time, exclaiming ; “ Save her ! O, save her *” 


OR, THE ADVENTDRES OF A ROLLING STONE. 233 

Looking in the direction thus Indicated, I saw something like a 
child — a little girl — struggling on the surface of the water. Partly 
supported by the drapery of her dress, she was drifting down with 
the current. The next instant 1 was in the water, with the child in 
my arms. 

The bank of the river, for some distance below, was too high and 
steep for me to climb out again. After making two or three inef- 
fectual attempts, I gave it up ; and supporting myself and the child 
by a swimming stroke, 1 permitted the current to carry us down, un 
til I had reached a place where it was possible to scramble ashore. 

The young girl upon the bank had done all she could to assist 
me, while I was endeavouring to climb out ; but, fearing, from the 
state of excitement in which she appeared to be, that she would her- 
self tumble in, 1 had commanded her to desist. 

On my relinquishing the attempt to ascend the steep bank, she 
appeared to think that 1 had done so in despair ; and that both the 
child and I were irrecoverably lost. 

Her screams recommenced ; while her movements betokened 
something like a determination to join company with us in the water. 
This, I believe, she would have done; had I not at that instant 
reached a place, where the bank shelved down to the surface, and 
where I at length succeeded in getting my feet upon dry land. In 
another moment 1 had placed the child in her arms. 

For some time after my getting out of the water, the attention of 
the young girl was wholly engrossed by the little creature 1 had 
rescued ; and, without fear of my scrtrtKjy being noticed, 1 had a 
good opportunity of observing her. 

As she stood before me, affectionately caressing her little com- 
panion, I thought that there could be on this earth but one other so 
lovely — one Lenore. 

She appeared to be about sixteen years of age. I had often heard 
of ‘-golden hair,” and always had regarded the expression as a 
very foolish figure of speech. I could do so no longer on looking at 
the hair of that Australian maiden. Its hue was even less peculiar 
than ^ts quantity. There seemed more than a delicate form could 
carry. 

I could not tell the color of her eyes ; but I saw that they emitted 
a soft brilliant light, resembling the outburst of an autumn sun. 

When she became satisfied that the child was unharmed, she pro- 
ceeded to thank me for the service I had done in “ preserving the 
life of her sister.” 


234 


LOST LENORE J 


I interrupted her expressions of gratitude, by oifering to acconv 
pany her to her home. The child, after the fright it had sustained, 
seemed hardly able to stand ; and I proposed to carry it in my arms. 
My proposal was accepted ; and we proceeded on up the river. 

An animal called in the colonies a “ Kangaroo Dog,” led the 
way ; and to this quadruped the young girl directed my attention. 

“ Rosa was running in advance of me,” said she, “ and was play- 
ing with the dog. It was he that pushed her into the river. 1 fear, 
our mother will not allow us to come out again ; though 1 am very 
fond of straying along the Yarra-Yarra. We have not tar to go,” 
she added ; “the house is just behind that hill, you see before us. It 
is not quite a mile to it.” 

I was pleased to hear this : for Rosa was about five years of age, 
and of a weight that 1 did not desire to walk under for any great 
distance. 

I had forgotten all about my gun. I had dropped it when jump- 
ing into the river ; and only remembered it now, long after we had 
left the spot. On turning towards my companion, I saw that she 
had it in her hands. 

During our progress towards her home, I was constantly making 
comparisons between my companion and Lenore. They were men- 
tal, and involuntary. She and Lenore were the two most lovely 
objects I had ever seen ; and yet they were altogether unlike. Le- 
nore was dark, reserved, and dignified ; though the expression of 
her features and the silent glance of her eye denoted, that her soul 
contained volumes of warm poetic fancy that might never be express- 
ed in words. 

The young girl by my side was fair and free-spoken ; she talked 
almost continuously ; and I could plainly perceive, that every thought 
of her mind must find expression in speech. 

Before we had reached the house, I had learnt the simple history 
of her life. She was the daughter of Mr. H the friend of Can- 

non — for whose station we were bound. 

She waB the one about whom Cannon had bantered Vane — telling; 
him that he might amuse himself by making love co her. Cannon 
had never spoken a truer word in his life, than when he said that 
she was “ extremely good-looking.” If the description was at all 
incorrect, it was because it was too tame. She was more than 
good looking — she was beautiful. 

1 learnt from her that her name was Jessie ; that her life was very 
lonely on the station —where the appearance of a stranger, whatever 


0», THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


235 


he might be, was an unusual event ; and that she was much pleased 
that an acquaintance of her father had sent word, that he was about 
to visit them with two of his friends. 

‘‘That acquaintance is Mr. Cannon?” said I, interrogatively. 

“Yes; and you are one of the friends who was to come with 
him,” rejoined she, with a woman’s instinct, jumping to the correct 
conclusion. “ Oh ! we shall be so happy to have you with us.” 

We had still that mile further to go ; but although Rosa was no 
light weight to carry, the distance appeared as nothing. 

Before we had reached her home, Jessie H seemed to be 

an old acquaintance. 1 felt assured that my visit to her father’s 
station would prove a pleasant one. 

On arriving at the house there ensued a scene of excitement, of 
which little Rosa’s mishap was the cause. 

Jessie seemed determined to make me the hero of the hour; and 
I had to listen to profuse expressions of gratitude from her father 
and mother — ail for bringing a child out of the water — an act 
that a Newfoundland dog would have performed quite as cleverly as I. 

Little Rosa was the favourite of the family ; and their thanks for 
what 1 had done were in proportion to the affection entertained for 
her. 

When they had succeeded in making me feel very uncomfortable, 
and appear very much like a fool, I had to listen to some nonsense 
from my travelling companions Vane and Cannon — who had arrived 
at the station nearly an hour before. Their bandinage was to the 
effect, that I had got the start of them, in the amusement of love- 
making to the beautiful Jessie. 

My companions had been unsuccessful in the pursuit of our 
packhorse. He had gone quite off into the “ bush” — carrying his 
cargo along with him. 

We never saw either again. 


236 


LOST 1.ENORE ; 


CHAPTER LIII. 

AUSTRALIAN AMUSEMENTS. 

Thb owner of the station, Mr. H , followed the kindred occu- 

pations of grazier and wool-grower ; and, to judge by the appear- 
ance of his home, he had carried on this combine business to some 
advantage. He was a simple, kind-hearted man, about fifty years 
of age ; and having been a colonist for more than twenty years, he 
understood how to make our visit to his home as pleasant, as cir- 
cumstances would admit. 

The day after our arrival, we were inducted into the mysteries 
of a “ kangaroo hunt.” In chase of an “ old-man kangaroo” we 
had a fine run, of about three miles, through the bush ; and the af- 
fair was pronounced by Vane, who claimed the character of a sports- 
man, to be a more exciting chase than any fox-hunt he had ever wit- 
nessed in the old country. To be “ in at the death” of a fox is to 
be present at a scene of considerable excitement ; but is tame, wher 
compared with the termination of a kangaroo chase. When an 

old- man kangaroo” is brought to bay, after having come to the 
conclusion that he has jumped far enough, then comes the true tug 
of war. 

The venerable gentleman places his back against a tree ; and i-e- 
sists further molestation in a most determined manner. He shows 
fight in his own way — by lifting one of his hind legs, and bringing 
it down again with a sudden “ slap” — all the time supporting him- 
self in an upright attitude on the other. The blow does not cause 
a sudden jar, like the kick of a horse ; but by no means of his long, 
sharp claws, the kangaroo will tear the skin from the body of a dog, 
or any other assailant, that may imprudently come within reach. 

Vane and Cannon knew that I had been a sailor. They expected 
therefore, some amusement in seeing me “ navigate” a horse across 
the rough country, among the standing and prostrated trees of an 
Australian “ bush.” 

They did not know, that I had been more than two years in the 


OR, THB ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 


237 


saddle, as a United States dragoon; and that I bad ridden over 
heaps of dead and wounded men, over crippled horses and broken 
carriages, as well as thousands of miles across the desert plains and 
through the dense forests of America. 

They were taken somewhat by surprise, on beholding my horse- 
manship; and Vane flattered me with the hope, that a few years^ 
practice would make me as good a hunter as himself. 

We returned home with a game-bag — containing two dead 
kangaroos; and next day, at dinner, indulged in the luxury of 
“ kangaroo” soup. 

Our amusement, for the following day was a fishing excursion 
ale the Yarra Yarra. 



We caught an abundance of fish ; but they were so small, that 
angling for them appeared to be an amusement more fit for children 
than men ; and we soon became weary of the rod and line. 

Each day, on returning home to the station, we enjoyed the so' 
ciety of the beautiful Jessie. 

As already stated, this young lady was an accomplished conver 
sationist, though her teaching had been only that of Nature. She 
could carry on a conversation with all three of us at once ; and on 
a diflerent subject with each. 

I believe that Vane fell in love with her at first sight; and his 
whole behaviour betokened that he intended paying no attention to 
the command or request which had been made by the man who in- 
troduced him. 

I knew very little about love affairs; but something whispered 

me that, if Vane should form a serious attachment for Jessie H 

it would end in his dissappointment and chagrin. Something told 
me, she would not reciprocate his affection — however fond it might 


be. 


At the same time, I could perceive in the young lady a partiality 
for myself. I did not attempt to discover the reason for this. It 
might have been because my introduction to her had been made un- 
der circumstances such as often win a woman’s love. She might 
have admired my personal appearance. Why not ? I was young ; 
and had been often told that I possessed good looks. Why should 
Jessie H not fall in love with me as well as another ? 

As I reflected thus, conscience whispered to me, that I should 
take leave of Mr. H ’s family ; and return to Melbourne. 

I did not do so ; and I give the reason. Jessie H was so en* 


238 


LOST lenore; 


chantingly lovely, and her conversation so interesting, that I could 
not make up my mind to separate from her. 

Several limes 1 had mentally resolved to bid adieu to my new ac- 
quaintances; but my resolutions remained unfulfilled. 1 stayed at 
the station, under the fascinations of the charmer. 

Our diversions were of diflferent kinds. One day we would visit 
a tribe of native blacks living up the river ; where we would be 
treated to astonishing spectacles of their manners and customs, es- 
pecially their exploits with the boomerang and spear. 

Our mornings would be spent in kangaroo hunting; and our even- 
ings in the society of the beautiful Jessie. 

One day we made an excursion — all going well mounted — to a 

grazing station about fifteen miles from that of Mr. H . Our 

object was to assist the proprietor in running a large drove of his 
young cattle into a pen : for the purpose of having them branded. 

The animals were almost wild ; and we had an exciting day’s 
sport in getting them inside the inclosure. Several feats of horse- 
manship were exhibited by different graziers, who assisted at the 
ceremony. The affair reminded me of what I had seen in Califor- 
nia upon the large grazing estates — “ ganaderias” of that country. 
We were home again before dinner time; and in the evening I was 
again thrown in the company of Jessie. 

I could not help reading her thoughts. They were easily inter- 
preted ; for she made no attempt to conceal what others might have 
desired to keep secret. Before I had been a week in her company, I 
was flattered with full evidence, that the warmest love of a warm- 
hearted girl was, or might be, mine. 

There are few that do not sometimes stray from the path of rec- 
titude, even knowingly and willingly. By staying longer at the 

station of Mr. H when convinced that the happiness of another 

depended on my leaving it, I was, perhaps, acting as most others 
would have done ; but I knew I was doing wrong. It brought its 
own punishment, as wickedness ever will. 

Jessie loved me. I was now sure of it. Several circumstances 
had combined to bring this misfortune upon her. Grateful for the 
service I had done in saving their child, her father and mother acted 
as if they could not treat me with sufficient consideration. Little 
Rosa herself thought me the most remarkable man in the world ; 
and was always talking of me to her sister. 

It was natural for a girl like Jessie to love some one ; and she had 
met but few, from whom she could make a choice. There was 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 

nothing strange in her young affections becoming centred on me ; 
and they had done so. Conscience told me that I should at once 
take myself from her presence ; but the fascination of that presence 
proved stronger than my sense of duty ; and 1 remained — each lay 
becoming more enthralled by the spell of her beauty. 

Why was it wrong in me to stay by the side of Jessie H ] 

ILienore Hyland had forsaken me; and why should 1 not hjve 
another? Where could I hope to find a woman more beautiful, 
more truthful, more worthy of being loved, or more capable of 
loving than Jessie. The task of learning to love her seemed every 
day to grow less difficult ; and why should I bring the process to an 
abrupt termination ? 

These considerations required my most profound reflection. They 
obtained it — at least 1 thought so ; but the reflections of a man, un- 
der the fascinating influence of female beauty, are seldom guided b^ 
wisdom. Certainly mine were not ; else 1 would not have allowed 
the hopes and happiness of my life to have been wrested from me 
by the loss of Lenore. 


1.06T LENORE, 


M 


CHAPTER LIV. 

“ LOVE BUT ONE !” 

“What should I do?” This was the question that presented it 
self to my mind, almost every hour of the day. It called energeti- 
cally for an answer. 

I loved Lenore Hyland, I felt that I ever should, as long as life 
was left me. Such being the case, was it right for me to gain the 

affections of an unsophisticated girl like Jessie H ? Would it 

be honourable of me to take advantage of that incident, which had 
no doubt favoured her first inclination towards me 1 To win her 
heart, and then forsake her, would be to inflict upon her the same 
sorrow I was myself suffering for the loss of Lenore. 

Lenore was still more dear to me than life ; and I had only lived 
since losing her, because I believed it a crime to die, until some Su* 
preme Power should call me to come. And yet should I ever re. 
turn to Liverpool, and find Lenore a widow — even though she 
should wish it — I could never marry her. 

“ She can never be mine,” thought I. “ She never loved me ; 
or she would have waited my return. Why, then, should I not 
love Jessie, and make her my wife?” 

There are many who would have adopted this alternative; and 
without thinking there was any wrong in it. 

I did, however. I knew that I could never love Jessie, as I had 
loved Lenore, to whose memory I could not help proving true, not- 
withstanding that she had abandoned me for another. This feeling 
on my part may have been folly, to a degree scarce surpassed by 
my mother’s infatuation for Mr. Leary ; but to know that a certain 
course of action is foolish, does not always prevent one from pur- 
suing it. 

“ Shall I marry Jessie, and become contented — perhaps happy ? 
Or shall 1 remain single — true to the memory of lost Lenore — and 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 241 

coutmue the aimless, wandering, wretched existence I have lately 
experienced 1” 

Long and violent was the struggle within my soul, before I could 
determine upon the answers to these self-asked questions. I 
knew that I could love Jessie ; but never as I should. “Would it 
be right, then, for me to marry her T I answered the last question 
by putting another. “ Should I myself wish to have a wife, who 
loved another man, and yet pretended for me an affection she did 
not feel ?” 

1 need scarcely say, that this interrogatory received an instanta- 
neous response in the negative. It determined me to separate from 
J essie • H , and at once. To remain any longer in her soci- 

ety, to stay even another day under the roof of her father’s house, 
would be a crime for which I could never forgive myself. To-mor- 
row I should start for Melbourne. 

I had been walking on the bank of the river, when these reflec- 
tions, and the final resolve, passed through my mind. I was turning 
to go back to the house, when I saw J essie straying near. She ap- 
proached me, as if by accident. 

“ Miss H ,” said I, “ I am going to take leave of you.” 

“ Going to leave me !” she exclaimed, her voice quivering as she 
spoke. 

“ Yes ; I must start for Melbourne to-morrow morning.” 

She remained silent for some seconds ; and I could see that the 
colour had forsaken her cheeks. 

“ I am very sorry,” she said, at length, “ very sorry to hear it.” 

“ Sorry !” I repeated, hardly knowing what I said, “ why should 
that grieve you 

I should not have asked such a question ; and as soon as I had 
done so, I perceived the mistake I had made. 

She offered no reply to it ; but sat down upon the bank ; and 
rested her head upon her hands. An expression had come over 
her countenance, unmistakably of a painful character ; and I could see 
that her eyes were fa#t filling with tears. 

“ Surely this girl loves me ? And surely I could love her I” 

I know not how these two mental interrogatories were answered. 
I only know that, instead of rejoicing in the knowledge that I had 
gained her love, I was made miserable by the thought. 

1 raised her to her feet ; and allowed her head to rest upon my 
shoulder. 


242 


LOST LBNORE ; 


“ Miss H said I, “ can it be that you show so much emo- 

tion, merely at parting with a friend 

“ Ah !” she replied, I have thought of you as a friend : but such 
a one as I never knew before. My life has been lonely. We are 
here, as you know, shut out from all intercourse with the world. 
We can form but few friendships. Yours has been to me like some 
unknown joy of life. You have been my only thought, since I first 
saw you.” 

‘‘You must try to forget me — to forget that we have ever met; 
and I will try to forget you. I should think of you as a friend !” 

For a second she stood gazing upon me in silence. Then trem- 
blingly put the question : 

“ You love another !” 

“ I do ; although I love without hope. It is one who can never 
be mine — one I may, perhaps, never see again. She and I were 
playmates when young. I fancied she loved me • but she did not : 
she has married another.” 

“ How very strange ! To me it seems impossible !” 

The artless innocence of these observations, proved the purity of 
the mind from which they could emanate. 

“ And yet,” continued she, “ for one who has acted in that mam 
ner, you can still feel love ?” 

“ Alas ! such is my unfortunate fate.” 

“ Oh ! sir, if you knew the heart you are casting away from you ! 
its truth — it^s devotion and constancy — you would never leave me ; 
but stay here and be happy. You would learn to love me. You 
could not hate one, who loves you as I can ; and will to the end of 
my life.” 

I could make no reply to this speech. Sweet as it might have 
been to the ears of some, I listened to it only with pain. I scarce 
knew either what to say or do ; and I was only relieved, from my 
painful embarrassment, when our steps brought us back to the 
house. 

I loved Lenore for what she had been ; and regarded her as lost — 
as dead ; yet I determined to remain true to her. My affections 
were not wandering fancies, finding a home wherever circumstances 
might offer it. I could “ love but one.” 

Jessie H was beautiful, innocent, and affectionate ; but all 

these qualities could not conquer my love for Lenore ; and honour 
commanded me to depart speedily from her oresencft 


OR, THS ADVKNTUREi OP A ROLLING BTONE. 243 

Shortly after entering the house, she retired to her room ; and I 
saw no more of her for the night. 

Before doing so myself, I took leave of Mr. and Mrs. H ; 

telling them that I must be off by daybreak in the morning. 

My companions, Vane and Cannon, declared their unwillingness 
to accompany me ; and used every argument to dissuade me from 
such an abrupt departure j but their arguments were only thrown 
away upon me. I had formed the determination ; and nothing 
could have influenced me to abandon it. On becoming assured of 
this, they at length consented to go along with me. 

Mr. and Mrs. H did not urge me very strenuously to re- 

main ; and I believe that their silent eloquence could have been ex- 
plained ; by the supposition that it arose, from a regard for the hap- 
piness of their daughter. 

W e took our departure from the station at an early hour of the 
morning — before any of the household — except some of the do 
mestics — were astir. 

This manner of leaving may appear unceremonious ; and would 
be so, in many parts of the world. But it is nothing unusual in 
Australia — where early setting out upon a journey is almost the 
universal fashion. 

I did not care for the company of Vane and Cannon, on 
the way back to Melbourne. 1 would much rather have dispensed 
with it ; as I wished to be alone. I wanted an opportunity for reflec- 
tion, such as that journey would have afforded me. The society of 

Jessie H had revived many memories within me. It rekindled 

my passion for Lenore, strengthened my regrets for the past, and 
my despair for the future. 

As I walked at a rapid pace, my companions fell behind, until, at 
length I lost sight of them, altogether. 

Before the hour of noon I had reached the city of Melbourne — 
sorry to think I had ever left it, to go upon an excursion, that had 
ended only in adding to the discontent already too firmly es- 
tablished within my bosom. 


LOST LENORS ; 




CHAPTER LV. 

UNSUITABLE ASSOCIATES, 

Once more I found myself without a home, and without any plana 
for the future, with a spirit undecided, depending on some slight 
circumstance as to what course I should next take. 

Such a position is ever unpleasant. I knew this, from the fact 
of having been too often placed in it ; and being well accustomed 
to the disagreeable reflections attending it. 

I was anxious to decide, upon something to do. What should it 
be? What part of the world should 1 next visit? Why had 1 
come back to Melbourne at all ? Was it to make more money ; or 
spend what 1 had already made ? These, and a thousand other in- 
terrogatories succeeded each other in my mind ; but to none of 
them could I give an intelligent answer. 

While in this indecision, I came near losing a portion of my self- 
respect. There was a good deal to seduce me into habits of dissi- 
pation ; and not much to restrain me from them. I had no longer 
the motives, to guard me against evil courses, that had once guided 
me. What could I gain, by always keeping on my best behaviour? 
Ever since first leaving home, I had endeavoured to conduct my- 
self, as well as my limited knowledge would allow. What had I 
gained by it? Nothing; except, perhaps, a little vanity. Was 
this worth all the exertion I had made by resisting temptation. 

Having little else to do, I spent some time in considering the 
question. The result was : satisfaction at the course I had pursued 
and 1 determined to continue it. 

A little vanity is, perhaps, after all, not such a bad thing. If a 
man cannot win the good opinion of others, he should endeavour to 
keep on proper terms with himself ; and this he cannot do, without 
conducting himself in a proper manner. Because Fortune had not 
dealt with me, as I had wished, that was no reason why 1 should 
take her for an example, and imitate her unkindness. A man in 
adrersity is too often deserted by his acquaintances ; but this is no 


OR, THB ADVENTURES OF A ROLLINU STONE. 245 

argument for turning against himself and becoming his own enemy. 
1 determined not to act in a manner so stupid. I had too much 
self-respect, or pride, or vanity, to do so. Call it by what name 
you please, it served me at that time in good stead : for it was this 
and nothing else, that restrained me from entering upon a course 
of dissipation. 

My companions Vane and Cannon were good examples of men, 
who act without any fixed principles or firm resolve. They had 
both been, in the old country, what is called a “ little wild,” and 
had come to the colonies not from any inclination on their part, but 
rather at the instance of their relatives and friends. They had 
been sent out, in fact — in the hope of their getting tamed by the 
hardships of colonial life. 

I have known thousands of genteel young men similarly expatri- 
ated ; and who, armed with letters of introduction and recommenda- 
tion, had landed in the colonies, under the belief that they were 
very much wanted there. Never was there a greater delusion — as 
most of them had afterwards reason to know. The only people re- 
quired in Australia are those of good habits — combined with some 
brains, or else a willingness to work. The “ fast youths” packed 
off to get them out of the way, are generally deficient in these es- 
sential requisities — otherwise they might have found employment 
at home. 

Unwilling to work, they arrive in the colonies with too good an 
©pinion of themselves and too low an opinion of the people there. 
Although leaving England under the belief that there may be 
greater people left behind, they feel confident that they will stand 
foremost in Australia. 

Some of these young gentlemen have the sense soon to discover 
their mistake ; and many of them turn to hard work, with a will 
that does them credit. My companions Cannon and Vane were not 
of this kidney. Neither would consent to do anything, that 
savoured of “ toil and with all their letters of introduction — - 
backed by the influence of the friends to whom they had come in- 
troduced — they were unable to procure what they had been led to 
expect — easy situations under “ government.” 

According to their showing, there was something wrong in the 
system ; and the fault was wdth the colonial government and people. 
They could not understand that those who are called upon to govern 
a young colony, and put together the machinery of it’s social state, 
require to know something ; and that they who, in their native land, 


246 


LOST lsnore; 


have proved incapable of performing any useful duty, will b« 
found still more useless, in a land where the highest capability is rei 
quired. 

Both had been unfortunate in having friends, who, while apparent- 
ly behaving too well to them, had in reality been treating them in a 
cruel manner. They had been brought up in idleness, with the idea 
that labour is vulgar, and disgraceful to a gentlemen. With these 
views they had been thrust forth upon a wide world, to war with 
life’s battles, as it were, undisciplined and unarmed. Neither had 
the spirit successfully to contend against the adverse circum- 
stances, in which they now found themselves; and they appeared 
to think that the best way for combating their misfortune was to be- 
take themselves to a course of dissipation. 

I endeavoured to persuade them, to go up to the diggings with 
me, and try jto make their fortune by honest and honourable la- 
bour; but both rejected my counsel — Vane even receiving it with 
scorn. They would not soil their soft hands by bringing them in 
contact with the dirty earth ! They had as little inclination for 
such menial labour, as I for many habits in which they indulged, 
and which to my way of thinking were far more menial than gold 
digging. 

They had been educated as gentlemen, I had not. Their ways 
were not my ways ; and, seeing this, I resolved to cut their acquaint- 
tance. They were not naturally bad fellows ; but they had faults, 
arising from a defective education, that rendered their company un- 
desirable, especially in a place like Melbourne. 

They were both pleasant companions ; and in many respects I 
could have liked them ; but as they were trying to live in Mel- 
bourne on nothing a year, I saw they would not be the right sort of 
associates for me. 

To do them justice, they seemed to be aware of this themselves, 
more especially Cannon. One day he had the honesty to confess to 
me, that he was afraid he could not lead the life of a respectable 
gentleman any longer. 

Why,” I asked ; “can not you get work 1” 

“ No,” he answered with a sneer; “I’m not going to drive bul- 
'ocks, or dry-nurse a flock of sheep, for any man. I must live in 
some other manner, whether it be considered respectable or not.” 

“ What can you do 1” I inquired. 

“ Haven’t an idea. I only know. Stone, that I shall be ‘ sponge* 
ing’ on you, if you don’t cut my acquaintance.” 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 247 

“ And, when you can live on your acquaintances no longer, what 
then V* 

“ Then I must turn billiard-marker. My friends have sent me 
here, as they said, to make my fortune, but, as I believe : only to 
get rid of any further trouble with me at home. They have succeeded 
in their purpose ; for I don’t believe that I shall ever rise the ‘ tin’ to 
return to England ; although I should deucedly like to do so.” 

“ Why should you wish to go where you are not wanted ? Why 
not set to work : and become independent, by your own exertions ?” 

“ Ah ! my friend ; you forget that we have not been brought up 
alike. You have had sensible parents, or guardians; who have 
done something to prepare you for that sort of thing; while I have 
been brought up foolishly by those who have tried hard to make me 
believe myself wiser than other people. What seems easy to you 
is altogether impossible to me. You have been educated in a 
world that has taught you some wisdom ; while I have been trained 
by a family that has only made a fool of me. I have been taught 
to believe that a man should owe everything to his ancestors ; and 
you, that he should be indebted only to himself. Therefore, it’s idle 
to talk about the matter, we can never ageee.” 

I saw that there was no use in urging Cannon to attempt doing 
any thing in the colonies, as long as he could perceive no object to 
be gained by exerting himself. 

J ust then, I was myself slightly inclined to take a similar view 
of things. I had hoped and toiled to make myself as perfect as 
was possible for a human being, placed in my circumstances. 
What had I gained by it ? Nothing. Influenced by these thoughts, 

I remained some time in doubt, whether I should return to the dig- 
gings or not. Life there, was, after all, only an excitement. It was 
not happiness. 

Several times the temptation came strong upon me, to go back to 
Jessie; and see if I could find happiness with her. In striving to 
overcome this temptation, I was, perhaps, not so unlike my com- 
panions — Vane and Cannon ; I was refusing to accept of fortune’s 
favours, when they could so easily have been won. 

They were in a growing colony, where, with labour, they might 
easily have obtained a high position, yet they would not exert them- 
selves. I was playing a very similar part ; for I saw how I might 
become happy — at all events, how I might live without unhappi- 
ness — yet I rejected the opportunity fortune had thus set before me. 

1 would only consent to accept happiness on my own terms ; and 


248 LOST lenork ; 

my obstinacy was not so very different from that which was the be. 
setting sia of my companions. 

I never felt more like a Rolling Stone, than when in Melbourne 
upon that occasion ; but the sensation was not peculiar to myself ; 
for the city contained thousands of people who had been every- 
where j and were ready, at an hour’s notice, to go there again. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 




CHAPTER LVI. 

barrel’s story CONTINUED. 

I AT length succeeded in making up my mind to leave Melbourne ; 
and, having parted with Vane and Cannon, I proceeded alone to 
Geelong — on my way to the gold fields of Ballarat. It was my 
first visit to Geelong ; and I made it a short one ; but, short as it 
was, I came to the conclusion, that if the people of Geelong had 
within the two previous years, advanced in civilization as rapidly as 
those of Melbourne, they must have been in a dreadfully degraded 
state before ; since I found the social, moral, and intellectual condi- 
tion of the place, if possible, still lower than that which disgusted 
me on my visit to Melbourne — and this is saying a deal. 

The principal business of the Geelongers appeared to be that erf* 
drinking ; and at this they were to a high degree, industrious. Al- 
most every one, with whom I came in contact, used obscene lan- 
guage, and were, or appeared to be, in every way more depraved, 
ignorant, and brutish, than any people to be found out of England 
itself. 

From Geelong I went on to Ballarat — a distance of forty-eight 
miles — in a conveyance drawn by four horses ; and paid for my ac 
commodation the smart sum of six sovereigns. On my arri- 
val, I once more pitched my tent on the richest gold field known to 
the world. 

Gold diggers had been called “ lucky vagabonds” by the then 
Attorney-General of Victoria. Perhaps he was right; but, what- 
ever name had been given them, I was well pleased at finding my- 
self once more in their company ; and ready to share their toils, 
chances and disappointments. , 

There is somthing in gold hunting that unsettles a man’s mind 
and makes him unfit for the ordinary occupations of life ; and yet 
the calling itself is exactly suited to the state of the mind it thus 
produces. 


250 


LOST LENORi; 


In this respect it is perhaps, unfortunately, too like the profession 
of the gamester. 

No other occupation could have been so well adapted to my state 
of mind. I had no hopes to realize, no object to accomplish, but 
that of forgetting the past, and guarding my thoughts from stray- 
ing into the future. 

Such being the case, it was with much satisfaction that I again 
found myself a “ lucky vagabond” — amidst the ever- varying scenes 
of excitement, to be witnessed on the gold fields of Ballarat. 

The first acquaintance I encountered, after my arrival at the 
place, was Farrel, the Californian gold digger, whom I had last seen 
in San Francisco. 

As a matter of course, we stepped into the nearest hotel, to have 
a glass together. 

“ I suppose,” said Farrel, as soon as we were seated, “ you have no 
objection to listen to the conclusion of that romance — the second 
chapter of which I made you acquainted with in San Francisco.” 

“ Not the slightest,” I answered. “ Although I felt sorry for 
what had happened to you, 1 confess I was very much amused at 
what you told me. But the most interesting part of the romance — 
as you call it — had not transpired. I shall be very glad to hear 
more of it.” 

“Well,” proceeded Farrel, “you shall. As I told you they 
would, Foster and my wife came out to California ; and, as I ex- 
pected, to San Francisco. However, they had come ashore so very 
secretly and quietly, that I did not succeed in finding them, until 
they had been about ten days in the city. 

“ Foster took a house in Sacramento Street ; furnished it with the 
money 1 had sent home to maintain my faithless wife ; and laid in a 
stock of liquors. He intended to commence business in the grog- 
selling line; and was about opening the establishment, when I 
found them out. 

“ As soon as I did so, I went straight to the house, and prepared 
for some sport. 

“ Foster and my wife were out shopping, and, no doubt, spending 
what remained of my money. The new tavern was in charge of a 
young man, whom they had engaged as a barkeeper. 

“ 1 immediately took possession of the whole concern -^the house, 
and everything in it. 

“ I then discharged the barkeeper from their employment ; and, 
then the instant after, engaged him in my own service. 


OR^ THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLINH STONE. 251 

I remained in that house for nine weeks — managing the business 
which Foster had intended to profit by ; and then sold out for five 
thousand dollars. 

“ Neither Foster nor my wife, to my knowledge, ever came near 
the place — at all events, they never showed their faces in the house. 
They had found out, by some means, that I was in possession ; and 
that had proved sufficient to make them surrender their claim with- 
out a contest. 

“ After selling out, I found leisure to look about me ; and make 
further enquiries concerning the precious pair. I learnt that they 
had gone up to Sacramento city, where they had both taken situa- 
tions in a public house , managed by some other man. They had no 
longer any money, to go into business for themselves. 

“ I was still determined to see them ; and started off for Sacra 
mento. 

“They must have had some one on the watch ; for, on reaching the 
place, I found they had only left two hours before. As my anger 
had been for some time evaporating, I had no desire to pursue them 
any farther. The fact is, I felt a degree of freedom — after the loss 
of my wife — that went far towards reconciling me to the man who 
had relieved me of her. Besides, there was something in the idea 
of having turned Foster out of his finely furnished house in San 
Francisco, that made me think myself nearly square with him ; and 
I did not care to take any more trouble, simply for the sake of 
troubling them. 

“ I returned to San Francisco ; and from that place took passage 
in a ship just sailing for Melbourne. 

“ My anger has now entirely passed away ; and yet I know 1 am 
still having some revenge — in addition to that I have already got. 
Wherever they may be, they are not living happily. They know 
that they have done wrong ; and I lay a wager, there’s not an 
hour of the day that they’re not thinking of me, and dreading that 
I will make my appearance. 

“ I can return to my native land, and be happy. They cannot. 
I never wish to see either of them again ; for 1 have become philo- 
sophical, and am willing that their crime should bring about its own 
punishment.” 

I congratulated Farrel on the philosophy that had enabled him so 
successfully to regain his tranquility of spirit ; and, after giving 
each other mutual directions lor meeting again, we parted company. 


252 


LOST LENORS; 


CHAPTER LVII. 

ODD FASHIONS IN THE GOLD FIBLDS. 

Farrel’s philosophical resolve — to trouble the delinquents no 
more — formed the subject of my reflections, as I walked towards 
my tent. It was an illustration of the power which circumstances 
may have, in allaying even the strongest passion : for I knew that 
when first made acquainted with his dishonour, the man had fell 
both deeply and resentfully. 

I could not help applying the lesson to myself. ‘‘ Is it possible,” 
thought I, “ that any circumstances can ever arise to allay my long- 
ings for Lenore 1 Is there in time a power that will yet appease 
them.” 

My sentimental reflections were interrupted, by a scene that was 
of a different character — altogether comical. Not far from the 
place where I had parted from Farrel, I saw a crowd collected 
around a tent. Two miners, who had been regular mates,” were 
qurrrelling ; and their neighbours had gathered upon the ground, to 
be edified by an abundance of vituperative eloquence. 

After the two men had, for a considerable time, amused the by- 
standers with their dispute, there appeared to be but one point upon 
which they could agree. That was that they should remain 
** mates” no longer. 

The tent, some provisions in it, along with their mining tools and 
cooking utensils, they owned in common ; having shared between 
them the expense attending their purchase. 

As these things could not be divided to the satisfaction of both 
parties, it was proposed that each should repiove from the tent, 
whatever was fairly entitled to be called his “private property;’* 
and that everything held in common — including the tent itself 
— should be burnt ! This proposal was at once agreed to. 

Each then brought forth from the tent his roll of blankets, and 
along with some other purely “personal effects.” The ropes, 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 253 

picks, shovels, and buckets, that chanced to bo lying outside the tent, 
were then “ chucked” inside ; after which, a match was applied to 
the dry canvass, and the diggers’ dwelling was instantly in flames. 
The two disputants then walked coolly away from the place — each 
carrying his bag upon his back ; one going to the east, the other to 
the west ; amidst the cheers of the spectators, all of whom seemed 
greatly to admire this original mode of dissolving a partnership. 

Law is so expensive and uncertain in all newly-established com- 
munities, that even sensible people do not like to resort to it, in the 
settlement of their disputes. Perhaps in this respect, the citizens 
of older communities might imitate the gold diggers to advantage. 

While in California I was witness to another incident illustrative 
of the unwillingness to resort to the judgments of a tribunal. It 
was a case of two gold diggers, who had been working together, 
and were about to dissolve partnership. Among the property they 
had owned in common was a fine mule. Each was desirous of be- 
coming sole possessor of the animal ; but neither would consent to 
give the other the price demanded for parting with his share. The 
difficulty might have been arranged by arbitration ; but, neither de- 
siring to be under any obligation to a third party, they adopted a 
more independent plan for settling the dispute. 

“ I’ll give you fifty dollars for your share of the mule,” proposed 
one, “ or I’ll take a hundred for mine ? I want the animal.” 

“ And I’ll give you fifty for your share, or take a hundred for 
mine 1” said the other, “ I want it too.” 

“ I’ll make you another offer,” said the first. “ W e’ll play a 
game of ‘ Euker ;’ and whoever wins shall have the mule ?” 

The third challenge was excepted. The game was played ; and 
the difficulty settled in five minutes, without any expense or ill-feeling 
arising out of it. 

A disposition to settle doubts and difficulties by chance, that “un- 
spiritual God” is very common, among those who have long followed 
the occupation of gold hunting — for the reason, no doubt, that there is 
so much chance or uncertainty in the calling itself. Gold diggers 
become familiarized to a sort of fatalism ; and, in consequence, al- 
low many questions to be decided by chance, that should be sub- 
mitted to the test of reason. 

I have seen a miner after working out a rich claim, toss up a dol- 
lar, to see whether he should return home or not. The piece of 
money fell wrong side down ; and the man remained at the dig- 


254 


LOST LENOaE ; 


gings ; and for ought I know, may be there still, working for a 
“ pennyweight per diem.” 

And yet I do not always condemn this mode of relieving the in- 
tellect from the agony of doubt. 

I once met two miners in San Francisco, to which place they had 
come from different diggings, for the purpose of having a few days’ 
rest after months of toil. They had been shipmates to California ; 
and now meeting again, each told the other of the way fortune had 
served him, since they had parted. 

I have got together two thousand three hundred dollars,” said 
one. “ I came out here to make up a pile of four thousand. If I 
had that, I’d go home.” 

“ 1 have done nearly as well,” said the other ; “ I have about two 
thousand ; and if I had what we both have got. I’d go home : and 
never touch pick or shovel again.” 

“ Ah ! so would I,” sighed the first. 

“ Well, then,” challenged his old shipmate, “ I’ll tell you what 
we can do. We both want to go back home, with not less than 
four thousand dollars. We need not both be disappointed. One 
of us can go; and let the other stay. I’ll cut. a pack of cards with 
you ; and the one that cuts highest, shall take four thousand dollars, 
and go home. The odd two or three hundred will be enough to 
carry the loser back to the diggings. What say you, old boss ? 

This proposal was instantly accepted. The man who had made 
It, lost his two thousand dollars ; and the next morning he handed 
the money over to his more fortunate friend ; shook hands with 
him ; and started back for the diggings. 

This story may seem improbable, to those who have never been 
in California in its best days y but I can vouch for its truth. 

After parting with Farrel, I seemed destined to witness a variety 
of incidents on that same evening ; and of both characters — comic 
and tragical. 

Shortly after passing the crowd, who had assisted at the dispute 
of the two miners, I came in sight of another concourse of people, 
in the middle of which appeared two or three policemen. They 
were gathered round the shaft of an abandoned claim. I went to see 
what the excitement was about ; and learnt that a Chinaman had 
been f«und suspended, in the shaft. 

The Celestial had committed suicide, by hanging, himself; and the 
plan he had adppted for terminating his existence, seemed, from its 
ingenuity, to have met with as much admiration from this crowd. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 255 

as had been bestowed by the other one on the mode of settling their 
dispute, which had been adopted by the two diggers. 

The Chinaman, knowing that the shaft was a deep one, had placed 
a large log of wood across the top of it. To the middle of this he 
had tied the end of a rope about fifteen feet long. The other end 
he had fastened, loop fashion, around his neck ; and then jumped 
down the shaft. No Jack Ketch could have performed the opera* 
t>»on for him, in a more effectual manner, 

I afterwards learnt that the Chinaman had been an opium eater ; 
and that he secretly squandered some gold, in which his mates 
owned shares. The crime preying on his conscience — perhaps, 
when he had no opium to fortify it — was supposed to be the cause 
of his committing the act of self-destruction. 


256 


LOST lenore; 


CHAPTER LVIIL 

A DISAGREEABLE PARTNERSHIP. 

For two or three days I strolled about the diggings, looking for 
some opportunity of setting myself to work. On the Eureka lead 
I found five men holding a claim, that stood a chance of being “ on 
the line.” It was within four claims of a place where gold was be- 
ing taken out ; and the “ lead” would have to take a sharp turn to 
escape this place. A shaft had already been sunk to the depth of 
twenty feet, that would have to go down about ninety feet further. 
It would require eight hands to work the claim ; and the five who 
owned it wished to sell some shares for the purpose of making up 
the number. 

The price asked was fifty pounds each ; and not seeing any better 
prospect of getting into a partnership, 1 purchased a share ; and 
paid over the money. 

I did not much like the appearance of my new partners. None 
of them looked like men aecustomed to do hard work, or earn their 
livelihood in any respectable way. They seemed better suited for 
standing behind a counter, to sell gloves and ribbon, than for the oc- 
cupation of gold digging. But that the claim was likely to prove 
rich, I should not have chosen them as associates. 

One of the number was named John Darby. He was one of those 
individuals, who can never avail themselves of the fine opportuni- 
ties afforded, for saying nothing. Darby’s tongue was constantly 
on the go; and would often give utterance to a thousand words that 
did not contain a single idea. His eloquence was of the voluble 
kind, and very painful to the ear — being nothing but sound, with- 
out one grain ef sense. His voice often reminded me of the clat- 
tering of the flour-mills I had heard in Callao. Whenever he 
would mount a hobby, and get his tongue freely going, the air 
seemed to vibrate with the movement of ten thousand demons, each 
hurling a fire-ball into the brain of the listener. 

According to his own account, Darby had been ten times ship- 
wrecked on the voyage of life. Several times, by not being able 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 257 

to marry as he wished ; and once, when he was too successful in 
this design. The latter misfortune he regarded as being more seri- 
ous than all others. 

Physically, as well as morally and intellectually, my gold-dig- 
ging companion, John Darby was a singular creature. He did not 
weigh more than ten stone — though he was six feet one inch high 
standing in his shoes. 

He had a small round head, from which hung long bay-coloured 
tresses of hair ; and these he every day submitted to a careful 
dressing a la Nazarene. 

Another member of our interesting firm,” who went by the 
name of “ George,” was simply an educated idiot. 

In the opinion of many persons the man who has received a book 
education — whatever his natural abilities — must be a highly intelli- 
gent person. For my part, I think different ; and I have adopted my 
belief from an extensive experience of mankind. 

It is been my misfortune to meet with many men of the class 
called “ educated,” who knew absolutely nothing that was worth 
knowing ; and George was one of these. He had received 
college instruction ; yet no one could spend five minutes in his com- 
pany without thinking of the phrase “ ignorant idiot.” 

Like most people of his class, his folly w'as made amusingly con- 
spicuous by his assumption of an intellectual superiority over the 
rest of his companions. 

Like most people, too, he had his vexations ; the greatest being 
that his superiority was not always acknowledged. On the con- 
trary, he was often chagrined by the discovery ; that the light of 
his genius — like that of the lamp that burned in Tullia’s grave — 
could not be seen of men. His eccentricities were at times amus- 
ing. Perhaps he had not been created in vain ; though it was dif- 
ficult to determine what had been the design of bestowing existence 
upon such a man — useless to warn others against the absurdities by 
w hich he daily distinguished himself. He was a living lesson in the 
3ixth volume of the great work of Nature ; and none could study 
him, without subjecting themselves to a severe self-examination. 
Useless as I may have supposed the existence of this man to be, 1 
must acknowledge myself indebted to him for many valuable les- 
sons. My observation of his follies had the effect of awakening 
within me certain trains of thought, that removed from my own 
mind many strong prejudices hitherto possessing it. In this sense 
I might say, that, he had not been created in vain ; though his in- 


258 


LOST lknore; 


tended mission could not have been that of delving for gold on the 
fields of Ballarat. 

Another of our firm had been an apothecary’s assistant in Lon- 
don ; and had but recently made his dehut on the diggings. He 
could not think of anything else, nor talk on any other subject, than 
the shop,” and what it contained ; and I could not help fancying 
myself close to a chemical laboratory, whenever this individual 
came near me. 

The other two partners of the concern used to make their ap- 
pearance on the claim, about ten o’clock in the morning ; and gener- 
ally in a state of semi-intoxication. 

These two men kept my mind in a constant state of trepidation, 
that is, when they were at work with me. I could never feel safe, 
in the shaft below, when I knew that either of the two was at the 
windlass. 

Any man in the least degree affected by drink, is a dangerous as- 
sociate in the working of a gold mine, especially when entrusted 
with the charge of the windlass. He may not see when a bucket 
wants landing ; or, when trying to lower it, he may hang the handle 
over the wrong hook — an almost certain consequence of which will 
be the crushing of the skull of whoever may have the misfortune 
to be below. 

No wonder that I felt some apprehension, while toiling in the 
companionship of my intoxicated partnen. 


•E, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE* 


250 


CHAPTER LIX. 

SUDDEN DISSOLUTION OP PARTNERSHIP. 

So much did my apprehension prey upon me, that I had some ide* 
of selling out my share and forsaking the partnership ; but I had 
not been very long in the concern, before becoming convinced that 
we were sinking shaft into one of the richest claims upon the line. 

It was alike evident to me, that a great deal of hard labour would 
have to be performed, before the gold could be got out of it ; and 
that my associates were the wrong men for this sort of thing. 

Fortunately at this crisis a man of a different character purchased 
one of the two shares, that had remained unsold. Fearing that the 
other share might fall into the hands of some trifler like the rest of 
my original partners, I purchased it myself ; and then underlet it to r 
young fellow, with whom I had formed an acquaintance. This man 
had been hitherto unsuccessful at gold digging. His name was 
John Oakes : and I had learnt from him that he was by profession a 
sailor ; yet — unlike the majority of sailors met with on the gold 
fields — he was a man of temperate habits; and seemed determined 
to save money, if he could only get hold of it. 

Up to this time he had not found an opportunity of acting upon 
his good resolves ; for every claim, in which he had taken a share, 
had turned out a failure. 

Before telling Oakes of my intentions towards him, I simply in- 
formed him that I had purchased the eighth share in our claim, and 
offered to underlet it to him. 

“ There’s nothing I’d have liked better,” said he, than to get 
into a claim along with you. You are always lucky ; and I should 
have been sure of getting something at last; but unfortunately I 
haven’t the money to pay what you have advanced.” 

“ Never mind that,” rejoined 1. “The claim is pretty safe to be 
on the lead ; and you can pay me, when you have obtained your 
gold out of it.” 

“ Then I accept your offer,” said Oakes, apparently much grati- 
fied. “ I need not tell you, how kind I think it of you to make it, 


260 


LOST LENORB j 


I feel sure it will bring me a change of luck. Pve never had but 
one decent claim, since IVe been on the diggings ; and the gold I 
got out of that was stolen from me. Rather, should I say, I was 
robbed of it. Did I ever tell you how that happened 

“ No — not that I remember.** 

“ Well, then, let me tell you now. There were three of us in 
partnership, in a good claim on Eagle-Hawk Gully, Bendigo. We 
got out of it about forty-eight pounds of pure gold. During the 
time we were at work, we used to take the gold — as quick as we 
cleaned it out — to the Escort Office ; and leave it there on deposit, 
until we should finish the job. 

“ When we had worked out the claim, we all went together to 
the office, and drew out the deposit. 

My two mates lived in a tent by themselves ; and they proposed 
that we should go there, for the purpose of dividing our ‘ spoil.* 

“ On the way, we stopped at a tavern, with the owner of whick 
they were acquainted; where they borrowed some gold weights 
and scales. They also purchased a bottle of brandy — to assist us 
as they said, in the pleasant task we had to perform. 

“ Before proceeding to business, each of my mates drank a ‘tauj 
of the brandy ; and, although I did not care for it, to keep from quar 
rolling with them, I took a thimblefull myself. Immediately aftei 
swallowing that brandy — although, as I have said, there was only^ 
thimblefull of it,. I became insensible ; and knew nothing of whi 
passed afterwards. I did not recover my senses, until the neik 
morning ; when I found my two mates gone, and nothing in the tem 
except myself. They had taken the whole of the gold — including 
my share, along with them ; and I have never set eyes upon eithei 
of them since. 

** That lesson has cured me forever of any propensity for strong 
drink ; besides making me very particular as to the men I wori 
with. What sort of fellows are they in the claim with you ?’* 

‘‘That is a subject on which I was going to speak to you,’* said \ 

“ They are not of the right sort for the work we have to do : on 
of them is an old woman ; another a young one ; and a third i 
worse than either. Two others are drunkards. There is only onr 
— and he lately entered with us — who can be depended on for do 
ing any work.** 

“ It’s unfortunate,** said Oakes ; “ but I mustn’t lose the chancr. 
of a good claim, for all that. I’ve no other prospect of getting one 
I’ll come over in the morning ; and go to work with you. Pei 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 261 

haps, when the shaft is sunk, and we get a sight of the gold, there 
may be a reformation amongst your mates.” 

Next morning, at seven o’clock, Oakes made his appearance upon 
the claim. George and the apothecary came up a little later ; and 
were soon followed by Mr. John Darby. 

When Oakes and Darby met, they recognised each other as old 
acquaintances. 

“ Is it possible. Darby, that I find you still in the colony ?” asked 
Oakes. “ I thought you had long ago started for England.” 

“ No ; I did not intend going home,” replied Darby, evidently 
not too well pleased at encountering his old acquaintance. “ I only 
went to Melbourne for a few days — to recruit my health, which 
was never very good at Bendigo. After getting all right again, I 
came out here.” 

Darby continued talking as if against time; and, as we were 
looking out with some impatience for the two drunkards, we allowed 
him to go on without interruption. 

I had requested all the members of the “ firm” to be early upon 
the ground on that partcular morning. A full company had now 
been made up ; and I wanted to come to some understanding with 
my partners — about a more energetic “ exploration” of the claim. 

The two “ swipers,” as they were called, soon after made their 
appearance ; and, as they drew near, I could perceive that another 
recognition had taken place. 

On seeing the new partner, both turned sharp round ; and then 
started off, at a brisk pace, in the opposite direction. 

For a moment Oakes appeared surprised — as if uncertain what to 
make of it. All at once, however, his comprehension became 
clearer ; and, calling to me to follow him, he set off in pursuit of 
the fugitives. 

The two had diverged from each other in their flight : and, as 
they had already got a good start of us, both were successful in 
making their escape. When Oakes and I came together again, he 
informed me, that the men were his old mates, who had robbed him 
on the Bendigo diggings ! 

We repaired to the police encampment; and after procuring a 
force, proceeded to the tent of the runaways. 

As a matter of course, we found that the birds had flown ; and 
could not be discovered anywhere upon the diggings. 

We were no more troubled with them, as “sleeping partners” 
in the claim. 


i,osT usisotis; 




CHAPTER LX. 

A PRIGHTFtTL NUGGET. 

When Coles and 1 got back from our search after the thieres, we 
discovered that still another defection had taken place in the firm. 
Daring the interval of our absence, Mr. John Darby had sold his 
share, to a person, who had the appearance of having work in him ; 
after which that talkative gentleman had quietly slipped away from 
the spot. 

I had noticed that he had not seemed highly delighted with the 
idea of my friend Oakes coming into the company ; and I presumed 
that this was the cause of his sudden desertion of us. 

On making my conjecture known to Oakes, I received from him 
the following explanation : 

I knew Darby,” said Oakes, “ when he first arrived in the colo- 
nies. He had come over here, as many others do, under the belief 
that hard work was degrading to a gentleman : such as he loudly 
proclaimed himself to be. Suffering under this affliction he would 
not condescend to become a miner ; but obtained a situation in the 
government camp at Bendigo. 

“ One day J had the misfortune to pass an hour in his company — 
during which he seemed struck with a fit of temporary sensibility ; 
had declared his intention to take to gold-digging. 

“ Toiling to get gold,” said he, “ is manual labour, I admit ; still 
it is not degrading to a man of fine sensibilities. Pm told that 
there are men of all the learned professions engaged in mining ; 
and that a celebrated author is now a gold-digger at the Ovens. 
Gold-diggers have no masters ; and I have even heard, that they af- 
fect to despise us government people at the camp.” 

1 afterwards ascertained that Mr. Darby had been dismissed from 
the government employment, just before making these remarks ; { 
and to this cause, no doubt, might be assigned the change, that had 
taken place in his views regarding “ labour.” 

Not long after that interview with him, he made his appearance 
near where I was working, in the Bendigo diggings. He had some 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 263 

mining tools with him — such as gold-diggers sometimes buy for the 
amusement of their children. He appeared as if he intended to 
pick up a fortune, without soiling his hands with the dirt, since both 
of them were gloved ! 

Paying no heed to some derisive cries that greeted him as he 
^me upon the ground, he strutted on, looking out for a claim. 

The place, he at length selected for his debut in gold digging 
was chosen with apparent judgment. 

Seeing two old shafts, about ten yards apart, that had the appear- 
ance of having been well worked, he supposed the ground between 
them must also be worth working ; and half-way between the two 
he commenced sinking another. 

The soil of the place was shallow — not over eight feet in depth — 
and Darby, inspired by high hopes, toiled industriously for the 
greater part of a day. At the end of each hour it could be seen 
that his head had descended nearer to the level of the earth ; and, 
before leaving off in the evening, he had got waist deep into the 
dirt. 

Next morning he was again at work, at a very early hour. 

“ I shan’t be surprised,” said he to one of his neighbours who 
was passing, “ if I should find a jeweller’s shop here. If it turns 
out well, I shall be on my way home to-morrow. As good luck 
would have it, the Great Britain sails for England next week.” 

“ I shall not be surprised at your good luck,” replied the miner, 
with a significant smile ; “at least, not any more than you’ll be as- 
tonished at finding no gold in that hole.” 

“ I won’t be at all astonished retorted Darby ; “ astonishment 
is a vulgar feeling that I’m not in the habit of indulging in. So far 
as that goes, it would make little difference to me, whether I found 
no gold at all — a nugget the size of myself — or the devil.” 

Darby continued toiling for nearly an hour longer. At the end 
of this time, he was seen suddenly to spring up out of the hole and 
run with all the speed his tottering limbs could command, in the 
direction of his tent, falling down, once or twice on the way. 

Some of the diggers had the curiosity to go and look down the 
hole he had made, in the hope of discovering the cause of his so 
suddenly forsaking it. To their surprise they saw a human corpse. 
The face, with its half decayed features, had been exposed to view 
by the spade of Mr. Darby, who had been all the time engaged in 
re-opening an old tunnel excavated by th'ur former owners between 
the two worked'Out claims. 


864 


LOST LSNORE ; 


Some man had been murdered, and his body concealed in the 
tunnel. Of course the miner who had “ chaffed ” Darby in passing, 
knew nothing of this. He only knew that a tunnel was there, and 
that Darby would get no gold out of the shaft he was sinking ; but 
the man was as much astonished as any of us, on seeing the horri- 
ble “ nugget” that had rewarded the labours of the “ gentleman 
gold-digger.” 

We heard that afternoon that Darby, immediately after receiving 
payment for his share in our claim, had started off to Melbourne, 
with the intention of returning to England. He had still retained 
enough pride of character, or vanity, or whatever it might be called, 
to dread the ridicule that he knew must await him, should Oakes 
tell us the story of that Bendigo nugget. 

His defection was a fortunate circumstance for us, as it led to our 
procuring in his place, a partner capable of performing a full share 
of the toil we had before us. 

On that day Fortune appeared determined to favour us. Before 
night we had disposed of the shares, abandoned by the “swipers,” 
to a couple of first-class miners. 

Next morning we all went to work with a will. Even George 
and the apothecary — stimulated by the example of the others — did 
their best to imitate it. 

This, however, was on their part only a spasmodic effort. Before 
many days had elapsed, the toil proved too great for their powers 
of endurance, and each entered into an agreement with a “ working 
partner,” W'ho was to have one half of their gold in return for the 
labour of getting it out for them. 

After this arrangement had been made, w’e could count on a 
proper working company, and our progress in the exploitation of 
the mine was, thenceforth, both regular and rapid. 

We had not been long engaged upon the claim when we dis- 
covered that it was “ on the line ;” and our toil was lightened by 
the golden prospects thus predicated. 

I was struck with the interest which Oakes appeared to feel in 
the result. He would scarce take time, either for eating or sleep- 
ing ; and, I believe, he would have continued to toil twenty -tw'o 
hours out of the twenty-four, had we allowed him. 

When the claim was at length worked out, and the gold divided, 
Oakes came to me, and paid back the fifty pounds I had advanced 
towards the purchase of his share. 

“ You have made my fortune,” said he, “ and I am going home 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 

ivith it to-morrow. It is not a large one; but it is all \ require. 1 
must now tell you what I intend to do with the money — as I believe 
that will be some reward to you, for your generosity in taking me 
into the claim. I have a father, who has been in prison for seven 
years for debt ; and all for the paltry sum of a hundred and sixty 
pounds ! Six years ago, I left home, and turned sailor, only that! 
might get my passage to some foreign land, where I might make the 
money to pay this debt, and take my father out of prison. I knew 
I could never raise it in England, where some of our governing 
people tell us we are so prosperous and contented. One hundred 
and sixty pounds was a large sum, for a young fellow like me to 
get together. I knew I could never make it up by following the 
sea, and I had begun to despair of ever doing so, until I got aboard 
of a ship in Cape Town bound for Melbourne. Of course I joined 
the ship, with the intention of escaping from her, when we should 
reach Melbourne. I need hardly tell you that I succeeded. One 
night, as we were lying anchored in Hobson’s Bay, off Williamston, 
I slipped into the water, and by swimming more than a mile, I 
reached the shore. Soon after, I found my way to the Bendigo 
diggings. 

“ While working out that claim on Eagle Hawk Gully — of which 
I have told you — I was the happiest man on earth ; but, when I 
discovered that my mates had absconded with my gold, I was 
driven nearly distracted. It was a cruel disappointment to a man, 
anxious to liberate an honest father from prison, as well as extricate 
a mother and two sisters from a situation of extreme misery. 

“Since then I have had no good luck — until you got me into this 
claim we have just completed. Thank God, I’ve got the money at 
last ; and may he only grant that I shall live to reach old England 
with it, in time to relieve my suffering relatives. That is all 1 care 
for in this world ; and if I can accomplish it, I shall be willing to 
die.” 

At my request Oakes promised to write to me from Melbourne, 
and let me know in what ship he would sail. 

This promise was kept ; for, the week after, I received a letter 
from him, informing me that he had embarked in the ship Kent,” 
bound for London. 

I could not help offering up a silent prayer, that favouring winds 
would safely waft him to his native shore ; and that his long-char 
ished hopes might meet with a happy realization. 






CHAPTER UJ, 

AN ADVENTURE WITH A “ BLACK FELLOW.” 

Shortly after the departure of Oakes, I went to a little rush, on 
Slaty creek, on the Creswick’s Creek Gold fields, about thirteen 
miles from Ballarat. 

I was accompanied by two others, with whom I had lately been 
working. Soon after arriving at the rush, we took possession of a 
claim ; and proceeded to “ prospect” it. 

After sinking a small hole on the claim, and washing some of the 
earth from the bottom of it, we found a little gold — not what we 
thought “ payable and yet the “ prospect” was so good that we 
did not like to forsake the claim. In hopes that it might contain 
richer ** dirt” than what we had found, we determined to stay by 
it a while longer. 

To sink our shaft to any advantage, we needed 9 , crowbar. 
There were some very large stones in the ground that could not be 
moved without one. A crowbar was an article we did not pos- 
sess ; and as we could not find one at the two or three stores es- 
tablished on Slaty Creek, I walked over, one evening, to Creswick 
Creek — a distance of some three or four miles — intending to pur- 
chase one there. 

By the time 1 reached the township, made my purchase, and 
started towards home, it had got to be ten o’clock. About half a 
mile from Creswick, on the road homeward I had to pass a camp of 
native blacks. 

These people, in morality and social habits, are upon a scale, 
perhaps, as low, as humanity can reach. The sole object of their 
existence is, to obtain strong drink. For that, they will sometimes 
work at gathering bark and poles ; or they will look about for stray 
specks of gold — in places where the miners have been working, and 
which have been abandoned. 


OR, THB ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


267 


Any one, who understands the strength of their aversion to la- 
bour, may form some idea of the desires these blacks have for 
drink ; when it is known that they will sometimes do the one for the 
sake of getting the other. 

An Australian native black, after becoming degraded by inter- 
course with the whites, will sell his mother, sister, or wife for 
brandy. 

The party, whose camp I was compelled to pass, had evident!}/ 
met with some success, in their various ways of obtaining brand}/ 
during that day ; for from the noise they were making, I judged that 
all, or nearly all of them, must be in a state of intoxication. 

Not wishing to be annoyed, by their begging for tobacco — which 
I knew they would be certain to do, should they see me — I resolved 
to keep out of their way. Instead of following the direct path — 
which led on through the place where they had erected their “ mia- 
fTitflw,” or hut — I made a detour of their encampment. After pas- 
ing well around it, I turned once more towards the road to Slaty 
Creek, which, after a time, I succeeded in regaining. 

I had scarce got well upon the track, when I was confronted by a 
big “ black fellow,” apparently beside himself with drink. 

As a general rule, the native blacks, seen roaming about the gold 
fields of Victoria, are seldom guilty of malignant violence towards 
the whites ; but the man, whom it was now my misfortune to meet, 
proved an exception to the rule : for the reason, no doubt, that he 
was maddened with alcohol. 

As he approached me, I saw that he was brandishing a “ waddy 
waddy,” or a club. I strove to avoid him ; but found, that although 
mad with drink, he was active upon his limbs, and able to hinder 
me from making a retreat. Had I attempted to run away, 1 should 
have been brought to a stop — by a blow from his “ waddy waddy.” 

I saw that my best chance of safety would be in standing firm 
and defending myself. 

The fellow made two desperate lunges at me with his club; 
which, with some difficulty, I managed to dodge — and all the while 
that he was delivering his murderous assault, he kept shouting to me, 
in his native gibberish — apparently making some important commu- 
nication, but the nature of which \ had not the slightest idea. 

Just as I was beginning to consider the affair serious, and was 
preparing to act on the offensive, the black made a third blow with 
his waddy waddy ! This I was unable, altogether, to avoid ; and the 
club struck heavily against one of my legs. 


268 


LOST lenore; 


Irritated by the pain produced, I could no longer control my tem- 
per ; and, grasping the crowbar with both hands, I aimed a blow at 
the black fellow’s head. 

I did not strike with the intention of killing the man. I only 
knew that my life was in danger ; and that I was suffering great 
pain from the wound I had received. This, however, had irritated 
me beyond the power of controlling myself; and, no doubt, my 
whole strength was given to the stroke. 

The crowbar descended upon the black fellow’s naked crown; 
and never shall I forget the horrible sound made by the crashing in 
of his skull. It was not only horrible, but siokening ; and for a mo- 
ment, completely unmanned me. It was not the mere thought, that 
I had broken a man’s head, that unmanned me ; for I had both wit- 
nessed and taken part, in many a sanguinary scene before that — 
without feeling any such remorseful emotion. It was the horrid 
sound — caused by the crushing in of his skull — that not only over- 
came me, but, for a time, rendered me faint, sick, and disgusted with 
the world, and all it contained. 

That sound echoed in my ears for hours aflerwads ; and ever 
since that time, I have carefully avoided being near any place where 
a “ free fight” was about to take place — lest it might be my mis- 
fortune to hear a similar sound. 

The day after, it was reported, that the blacks were entertaining 
themselves with a funeral. I did not learn the particulars of the cere- 
mony ; but, presume it was similar to a funeral I had witnessed 
among a tribe of the same people on Fryer’s Creek in July, 1853. 

One of their number had been killed, by another of the tribe ; 
and on the next day, I was present at the performance of their funer- 
al rites, over the remains of the murdered man. 

A grave was dug, about five feet deep — into which the body was 
lowered, and a sheet of bark laid over it. The earth was then filled 
in : and while this was being done, by one man, two others stood in- 
side the grave, stamping upon the dirt, and treading it down, as 
firm as they could make it. 

What could have been their object in thus packing the daad body 
i never understood ; unless it was done, under the impression, that, 
the corpse might come to life again, without this precaution being 
taken to keep it under ground ! 


OR, THB ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


269 


CHAPTER LXII. 

FARREL AND HIS WIFE, ONCE MORE.. 

Three weeks “ prospecting” at Slaty Creek, convinced me that it 
was not the place for a gold digger to make his fortune, without the 
severest labour ; and for this reason, I left it — returning to Ballarat, 

On arriving at the latter place, I went to see my old Californian 
acquaintance, Farrel. The instant I set eyes on him, and he on me. 
his features plainly proclaimed that he had something to tell me, 
which h« deemed very amusing. 

“Farrel,^ said I, “you are working a rich claim ; I see fortune 
written on your face.” 

“ Nothing of the kind,” he answered ; “ I have just finished a 
tolerable spell of digging, it is true; and shall start for home to- 
morrow. But it ain’t that ; I have better news still.” 

“ Better news 1 What can it be 1” 

“I’ve seen Foster, and my wife. Ha ! ha ! they’ve been living in 
sight of my tent for the last four months ; and I never knew they 
were there until two days ago.” 

“Then you have seen Foster?” 

“ Certainly, I have.” 

“ What did you do to him ?” 

“Nothing. Fate is giving me all the revenge I w’ant; and I 
would not interfere with her designs — not for the world. In saying 
that Foster is the most miserable object I’ve seen for many years, 
I speak only the truth. He has rheumatic fever, and hasn’t been 
able to stir out of his tent for six weeks. He will probably never 
go out of it again — that is, alive. Now, J call that fun ; is’nt it?” 

“ Not much for Foster, I should think. . But ho\v came you to 
find them ?” 

“I was in my tent, one morning, when I heard a w'oman talking 
to my partner, who happened to be outside just by the door. The 
woman was wanting to get some washing to do. She said that her 
husband had been a long time ill ; and that they had’nc a shilling 


270 


LOST lknorb; 


to live upon. I thought her voice sounded familiar to me ; and, 
taking a peep out of the tent, 1 saw at once it was my runaway 
wife ! I waited till she walked away, and then, slipping out, I fol- 
lowed her to her own tent. She went inside, without seeing me 
and then I stepped in after her, and stood quietly surveying the 
guilty pair. 

“ My wife went off into a fit of ‘ highstrikes,’ while IToster lay 
trembling, like a craven, expecting every moment to be killed. 
‘ Don’t be frightened,’ said I, ‘ I haven’t the slightest intention to 
put you out of your misery. 1 like revenge too well for that. \ou 
have some more trouble to see yet, I hope ; and I’m not going to 
do anything that might hinder you from seeing it.’ 

“ I waited till my wife became sufficiently composed to compre- 
hend what was going on ; and then, after thanking her for the kind- 
ness she had done me — by relieving me of all further trouble with 
her — I bid them ‘ good day,’ and walked off, leaving them to reflect 
upon the interview 

“ To-day, I have just been to visit them again ; and the want and 
misery they appear to be suffering, gave me no little pleasure. 
They looked as though they had not had a morsel to eat for a week, 
and I could not see a scrap — of either bread or meat — in their 
tent. 

“ I told them not to give themselves any further uneasiness on 
my account; for I wasn’t going to molest them any more. I’ve 
made a little fortune here,’ said I, ‘ and intend starting for New 
York State to-morrow. Have you any message to send to your 
friends'?’ I asked of Foster. The poor devil could not, or would 
not make me a reply. ‘ Have yow, Mary V said 1, turning to my 
wife. She could only answer with sobs. ‘ It is a miserable, 
wretched life, at the best, on these diggings,’ 1 remarked. ‘ I am 
going to leave it, and once more seek happiness in my native land. 
Excuse fhe, Mr. Foster, and you, Mrs. F., for not helping you in 
vour distress. I know that there is an All-wise Creator, who will 
reward both of you, as your conduct deserves ; and it would be 
presumptuous in me to take any of the work out of His hands. I 
leave you here, with full confidence in the belief that divine justice 
will be impartially administered to all.’ 

“ Now that was what I call good talking, — what do you say ?” 

** Very good, indeed,” I answered. ‘‘ But are you really going to 
leave them in that manner 1” 

“ Certainly, I am. I never intend to see either of them again. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 271 

When I was coming away from their tent, my wife followed me 
out ; went down on her knees ; and piteously entreated me to aid 
her, in returning to her parents. She declared that she never knew 
my worth, until she had foolishly lost me ; and that she now loved 
me more than ever she had done — my little finger, more than Fos- 
ter’s whole body — which it would not have been difficult to make 
me believe. She said she would not ask me to let her live with me 
again ; but, that if 1 would give her money to return home, she 
would pass the remainder of her days in praying for me. 

No, Mary,” said I, do not think so unjustly of me, as to sup- 
pose I could do that. I love you too well, to stand in the way of 
your receiving the reward you have deserved ; and, besides, you 
should not desert Foster, whom you have followed so far — now that 
the poor tellow is in affliction. My affection for you is too sincere, 
to think of allowing you to commit so great a wrong 

“ Having delivered this exordium, I turned and left her. Now 
that is what I call revenge. What’s your opinion ?” 

** What is revenge to one man, may not be to another,” was my 
answer. “ If it pleases you to act so, of course, I have nothing to 
say against it.” 

“ And what would you do 1” 

“ I should give the woman some money ; enough to enable her 
to return to her parents. As for the man, I should leave him to his 
fate.” 

“ Then you would act very foolishly, — as I would, if I followed 
your advice. The woman having got home, would be there to 
annoy me. I wish to go back to my native place, and be happy 
there for the rest of my days. How could that be — living along- 
side a wife who had so disgraced me 

I could say nothing more to dissuade Farrel from his purpose, 
and we parted company — he shortly after starting for Melbourne, 
to take passage for New York. 

The after-fate of his faithless wife, and her wretched paramour, 
some other must record ; for, from that hour, I never heard of either 
of them again. 


273 


LOST L£NOR£; 


CHAPTER LXIII. 

THE RUSH TO AVOCA. 

After passing four or five days in looking about the Canadian, 
Eureka, and Gravel pits, “ leads” on the Ballarat Gold-fields, and 
finding no favourable opportunity of getting into a good claim, 1 
determined to proceed to Avoca River ; for which place a big 
“ rush” was just starting — that, by all accounts, would turn out a 
success. 

The day after 1 had formed this resolution, I saw a man with a 
horse and dray, just departing for Avoca. 

The man was willing to take a light load of diggers “ swags 
and, rolling up my tent and blankets, I put them upon his dray. 

The drayman did not succeed in getting all the freight he required ; 
for there was but one other digger besides myself, who furnished 
him -with anything to carry As he, and a partner he had, were 
anxious to reach the new gold-field as soon as possible, they deter- 
mined to start, without waiting to make up a load. 

All being ready we set out at once for the “ sweet vale of 
Avoca.” 

The drayman’s partner was a man known in the diggings by the 
name of “ Bat.” 1 had often seen “ Bat,” and was acquainted with 
two or three other diggers, who knew him well. He was famed at 
Ballarat, for having the largest mind of any man in the place ; but 
it was also generally known, that in his mind, the proportion of sel- 
fishness, to all other feelings and faculties, was ninety-nine to one. 

The reason why Bat’s soul was thought to be so large was, that 
otherwise it could not have contained the amount of disgusting sel- 
fishness, which it daily exhibited. 

He was only miserly about spending money, that might result to 
the benefit, or injury, of any one but himself. In the gratification 
of his own desires, he was a thorough spendthrift. 


OR, THB ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


273 


d iiad heard one of the miners tell a story, illustrative of Bat’s 
disposition. For amusement, the miner had made an experiment 
to see, to what extent, selfishness would, as he expressed it, carry 
Bat on the way to hell.” 

He enticed this large-souled individual, to go with him on a 
spree upon which, he treated him five times in succession. 

Bat had by this time imbibed a strong desire for more drink ; 
and after waiting for some time for his companion to treat him 
again, he slipped to one side, and took a drink alone, without asking 
the other to join him. 

After this the miner treated him once more ; and not long after, 
Bat again drank alone, at his own expense. 

By this time both of them had become pretty well intoxicated ; 
and the spree came to a termination, by Bat’s receiving a terrible 
thrashing from the convive, who had been vainly tempting him to 
spend his money. 

Bat’s mate, the drayman, knew but little about him, only having 
Joined him as a partner the evening before we started for the Avoca. 

On the first day of our journey, late in the afternoon, we arrived 
at a roadside grog-shop : and all went in for something to drink. 
Inside the house, were three ill-looking men, who had the appear- 
ance of having once lived in Van Dieman^s Land. The shop was a 
very colonial affair; and, after drinking some poison, called rum, 
we all came out — leaving Bat weighing some gold, which he took 
out of a leather bag, in presence of all the company. It was to pay 
for a bottle of brandy ; which, as we were going to camp out 
for the night, he had purchased, for the purpose of making himself 
eomfortable. 

Darkness overtook us about a mile or so beyond the grog-shop ; 
and water being near the place, we resolved to stay by it for the 
night. 

Bat came up, just after we had started our fire, and drank some 
tea along with us. He had brought with him two bottles of brandy, 
instead of one; the second being for his mate, the drayman, who 
had commissioned him to buy it for him. Seeing these two bottles 
of brandy in the camp, I did not care about staying on the spot. I 
believed that the drayman. Bat, and the other digger who accom- 
panied them, would get drunk ; and I did not fancy to remain in 
their company. 

I took up my blankets, and, going about two hundred yards off 


LOST lknorb; 


274 


from the camp — to a grove of bushes — I rolled myself in my cover, 
and slept foundly till the morning. 

At sunrise I awoke, and went back to rejoin my travelling com- 
panions. 

On drawing near the encampment, I saw that something was 
wrong, and I hastened forward. Bat was not there; but the dray- 
man was, and also the digger. Both were tied with their hands 
behind their backs, and, furthermore, fastened to the wheels of the 
dray. I saw that both of them were gagged ! 

I lost no time in releasing them from their unpleasant imprison- 
ment, and as soon as I had ungagged them, they told me what had 
happened. About the middle of the night, four men had come up, 
armed with revolvers, which they had held to the heads of the dray- 
man and digger, while they tied and gagged them. The two were 
then robbed of all their money ; after which, the bush-rangers went 
their way — taking along with them the drayman’s horse. 

“ But where is Bat ?” I asked. 

“We don’t know,” was the reply. “He went away soon after 
you did.” 

Circumstances looked suspicious against Bat ; but only to me ; 
for the others understood all that had happened. Bat had deter- 
mined to keep his bottle of brandy to himself. By remaining with 
the others, he could not well drink it all without asking them to 
have a share, as he had already been treated by his partner. To 
avoid doing so he had stolen away to the bush, where he could drink 
his liquor alone. 


“ The men who robbed us,” said the disconsolate drayman, 
“could be no others than them we saw in the grog-shop ; and it was 
my mate Bat who drew them on to us, for they seemed greatly dis- 
appointed, and swore fearfully at not finding him. He flashed his 
gold-dust before them yesterday ; and, of course they came after us 
to get it. I wish they had got every ounce of it. He deserved to 
be robbed for tempting.” 

“ Have you lost much 1” I asked, of the drayman. 

“ No,” answered he. “ Luckily, I had not much to lose— only 
seventeen pounds. But I care more about my old horse, for I’ve 
owned him over three years.” 

The digger had lost twelve pounds in cash, and a gold nugget of 
seven ounces weight. 

While both were lamenting their mishap. Bat made his appear- 
ance from the bush, and began finding fault with his mate for not 


OR, THK ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 275 

having breakfast ready, and the horse harnessed for a start. The 
effects of the bottle of brandy had only increased the disagreeable 
peculiarities of Bat’s character, and given him a good appetite. 

He was now told what had happened, which made him a little 
more amiable. But his amiableness could be traced to the fact of 
his being conceited of the swinish selfishness of which he had been 
guilty. He seemed highly delighted to think he had had the good 
fortune to escepe the mischance that had befallen his companions ; 
and, instead of sympathising with them, he actually boasted of his 
luck ; putting it forward as a proof of his possessing more than or- 
dinary sagacity. 

“Will you have a little brandy?” asked his mate, in a tone of 
voice that told me the offer was not made in a friendly spirit. 
“There’s a drop left in my bottle, which, luckily, the bush-rangers 
did not get hold of.” 

“ Of course I will,” answered Bat. “ Brandy is a thing I never 
refuse, especially when on the road, and after camping out all night 
Let’s have it.” 

The drayman produced his bottle, along with his tin pannikin. 
The former was about half full, and its contents were poured into 
the cup. 

When Bat reached forth his hand to take hold of the vessel, the 
brandy was thrown into his face, and the next instant he himself fell 
heavily to the earth — from the effects of a blow administered by the 
clenched fist of the drayman. 

Bat rose to his feet, and tried to show fight ; but no efforts he 
could make, either offensive or defensive, hindered him from getting 
his deserts. It was the first time I had ever been pleased at the sight 
of one man punishing another. 

After getting a thorough thrashing from his irate partner, Bat took 
up his blankets, and then started back along the road towards Bal- 
larat — having, for some reason or other, changed his mind about 
going to Avoca. 

I paid the drayman what I had agreed to give him for taking my 
“ swag and, accompanied by the digger, who had been robbed 
along with him, I continued my journey afoot — each of us carrying 
his own blankets and tent. We left the poor drayman alone with 
his dray, in what the Yankees call a “ fix for he dare not leave 
the vehicle, and the goods it contained, to go in search of a horse, 
and without one it would be impossible for him to transport hit 
property from the place. 


276 


LOST LENORB f 


I would have stopped along with him for a day or two, and lent 
him some assistance, had it not been that he was one of those unfor- 
tunate creatures so often met in the Australian colonies, who seldom 
speak without using some of the filthy language imported there from 
the slums of London. For this reason 1 left him to get out of his 
difficulty the best way he could, and, for all I know to the owitrary, 
he is still keeping guard over his dray, and the miscellaneous lading 
it fontained. 


OB, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE, 


277 


CHAPTER LXIV. 

THE “sweet vale OF AVOCA.” 

W« arrived near the Avoca diggings late in the afternoon. Seeing 
a good spot for pitching a tent, my companion stopped, and pro- 
posed that we should go no further, as that place was exactly suited 
to his mind. 

“All right,” said I. “If it suits you — you had better stay 
there.” 

While the digger was disencumbering himself of his lo^d, I 
walked on. I did so, because my travelling companion was a man 
whose acquaintance 1 did not care to cultivate any further. I did 
not take the trouble to satisfy myself of any reason for leaving him 
in this unceremonious manner. I only knew that I did not like his 
society ; and, therefore, did not desire to pitch my tent near him — 
lest I might have more of it. 

My principal objection to remaining with the man was this. I 
had formed an idea that nothing was to be gained from him — neither 
knowledge, amusement, friendship, money, nor anything else — 
unless, perhaps, it might have been, a worse opinion of man?dnd ; 
and this of itself, was just ground for my giving him the good- 
bye. 

After going a little farther on, I pitched my tent in a place 1 made 
choice for myself. 

Next morning I walked forth, to have a look at the new gold- 
field. 

There are not many spectacles more interesting to the miner, 
than that termed a “ rush” to a gold-field newly discovered, and re- 
ported to be “ rich.” 

The scene is t>ne of the greatest excitement. On the ground to 
which the “ rush” is directed, all the vices and amusements to be 


278 


LOST LBNORK ; 


met with in large cities, soon make their appearance. Where, per- 
haps, a month before, not a human being could have been seen, 
taverns, with magnificent interior decorations, billiard-rooms, bow- 
ling-alleys, rifle-galleries, theatres, and dancing-saloons, will be erect- 
ed ; in short, a city, where, but a few weeks ago, there was nothing 
but the “ howling” wilderness ! 

On my arrival at the Avoca diggings, I marked out a “ claim 
and for several days my occupation was that of ‘shepherding^ it. 

To ‘shepherd a claim,’ is to keep possession of, and merely retain 
it — until, by the working of other claims near, a tolerably correct 
opinion may be formed, as to whether yours will be worth digging 
or not. 

The system of shepherding claims, is only practised where gold 
lies some distance below the surface ; and where the claim can only 
be prospected at the expense of some money and trouble. 

The claim I had marked out, was a large one — larger in extent 
than one person was entitled to hold. For this reason, on 
the third day, after I had taken possession of it, another man bespoke 
a share in it along with me. 

I did not like the looks of this man; and would have objected to 
working with him ; but he would not consent to divide the ground ; 
and the only way I could get clear of him was, to yield up the 
claim altogether. This I did not wish to do ; for it stood, or rather 
“ lay,” in a good position for being on the “ lead.” 

I have said I did not like the looks of the intruder. This dislike 
to him arose from the circumstance of his having a strong “ Vande- 
monian expression” of countenance ; and I had a great prejudice 
against those who, in the colonies, are called “ old lags.” 

We “shepherded” the claim together for a few days ; when the 
prospect of its being on the lead, became so fair, that we at length 
commenced sinking a shaft. 

The more I saw of my companion, while we were toiling 
together, the weaker grew my aversion to him ; until, at length, I 
began to entertain for him a certain feeling of respect. This in- 
creased as we became better acquainted. 

I learnt that he was not from Tasmania, but from New South 
Wales; and my prejudice against the “Sydneyites” was even 
stronger (having been formed in California.) than against the “ old 
hands” from Van Diemen’s Land. 

The “ Vandemonians,” generally speaking, have some good 
traits about them, that are seldom met amongst those from the 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


279 


“ Sydney side.” The convicts from the former place, have more 
generosity in their wickedness ; less disposition to turn approvers 
on their companions in crime ; while at the same time, they display 
more manliness and daring in their misdeeds, than do the “ Sydney 
birds.” 

One would think, there could Rot be much difference between the 
criminals of the two colonies ; since both originally come from the 
same school ; but the characteristics distinguishing classes of truus- 
portie.s, change with the circumstances into which they may be 
thrown. 

My new partner proved to be like few of the “ downey coves” 
I had encountered in the diggings ; for I found in him, a man pos- 
sessing many good principles, from which he could not be easily 
tempted to depart. 

He did not deny having been a convict ; though on the other 
hand — unlike most of his class — never boasted of it. 

“ Drinks all round,” can usually be won from an old convict in 
the following manner ; — 

Offer to lay a wager, that you can tell for what crime he had 
been transported ; and as his own word is generally the only evi- 
dence to be obtained for deciding the wager, ten to one it will be 
accepted. Tell him then : that he was “ lagged for poaching ;” and 
he will immediately acknowledge that he has lost, and cheerfully 
pay for the “ drinks all round ” 

This game could not have been played with the subject of my 
sketch ; since he freely acknowledged the crime for which he had 
been transported ; it was for killing a policeman. 

One evening, as we sate in our tent, he related to me the story 
of his life ; but, before giving it to my readers, I must treat them to 
a little explanation. 

This narrative is entitled the Adventures of a Rolling Stone 
and such being its title, there may be a complaint of its inappro- 
priateness ; because it also details the adventures of others. But 
part of the occupation of the hero, has been to observe what was go- 
ing on around him ; and therefore, a faithful account, not only of 
what he did, but what he saw and heard — or in any way learnt — 
should be included in a true narrative of his adventures. Hearing 
a man relate the particulars of his past life, was to the “ Rolling 
Stone,” an event in his own history ; and, therefore has he recorded 


it. 

The reality 


of what is here written may be doubted ; and the 


280 


LOST lenore; 


question will be asked ; — how it was, that nearly every man who 
came in contact with the “ Rolling Stone,” had a history to relate, 
and also related it ? 

The answer may be found in the following explanation : — 

A majority of men met with on the gold fields of California and 
Australia, are universally, or at least generally, unlike those they 
have left behind them in the lands of their birth. Most gold dig- 
gers are men of character, of some kind or other ; and, have through 
their follies or misfortunes, made for themselves a history. There 
will most always be found some passage of interest in the story of 
their lives — often in the event itself, which has forced them into 
exile, and caused them to wander thousands of miles away from 
their homes and friends. 

When it is further remembered ; that the principal amusement 
of the most respectable of the gold diggers, is that of holding social 
converse in their tents, or around their evening camp-fires, it will 
appear less strange, that amongst so many “ men of character” one 
should become acquainted with not a few “ romances of real life” — 
such as that of the “ Vandemonian” who became my associate in 
the ‘‘ sweet vale of Avoca ;” and which is here recorded, as one of 
many a “ convict’s story,” of which I have been the confidant. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


281 


CHAPTER LXV. 

A convict’s story. 

** Ycu have expressed a desire to hear the story of my life,” said 
my mining partner. “ I make you welcome to it. There is not 
much of my history that I should be ashamed to tell you of ; but 
with that little I shall not trouble you. I have never done anything 
very bad, — that is, I have never robbed anybody, nor stolen any- 
thing that I did not really want. 

“ I am a native of Birmingham, in, which town I resided until I 
was about twenty years of age. 

** My father was a confirmed drunkard ; and the little money he 
used to earn by working as a journeyman cutler, was pretty certain 
to be spent in gin. 

“ The support of himself, and four young children fell upon my 
mother, myself, and a brother — who was one year younger than I. 
In all Birmingham, there were not two boys more dutiful to their 
parents ; more kind to their younger brothers and sisters ; more 
industrious, and less selfish, than my brother and myself— at the 
time I am speaking of. 

‘‘ Our hours were wholly occupied in doing all we could, to sup- 
ply the wants of my father’s family. 

“ We sometimes attended an evening school. There we learnt to 
read and write ; but even the time devoted to this, we would have 
considered as squandered, if we could have been doing anything 
else — to benefit the unfortunate family to which we belonged. 

One evening, after we had got to be grown up to manhood, my 
younger brother and I were returning from our work, when we saw 
our father at some distance off, in the middle of the street. We saw 
that he was intoxicated. Three policemen were around him — two 
of them with hands upon him. 

** As usual with my father on such occasions, he was refractory ; 


282 


LOST lbnore; 


and the policemen were handling him in a rery rough manner. 
One of them had struck him on the head with his baton, and my 
father’s face was covered with blood. 

“ My brother and I ran up, and offered to take him quietly home 
— if the policemen would allow us to do so ; but as he had assault 
ed them, and torn their clothes, they refused to let us have him, and 
insisted in locking him up. My brother and I then offered to take 
him to the lock up ourselves ; and, taking him by the hand, I en* 
treated him to go quietly along with us. 

“ The policemen rudely pushed me aside ; again collared my 
father, and commenced dragging him onward. Once more we in- 
terfered — though this time only to entice our father to go with the 
policemen, without making any resistance. 

“ At that moment, one of the constables shouted “a rescue and 
the three, without further provocation, commenced an assault upon 
my brother and myself. 

“ One of them seized me by the throat, and struck me several 
times on the head with his baton. We struggled awhile, and then 
both fell to the ground. I turned my head, while trying to get up 
again, and saw my brother lying on the pavement, with his face 
covered all over with blood. The policeman, who had fallen with 
me, still retained his clutch upon my throat ; and again commenced 
beating me as soon as we had both recovered our feet. A loose 
stone, weighing about ten pounds, was lying upon the pavement. I 
seized hold of it, and struck my antagonist on the forehead. He fell 
like a bullock. When I looked around, 1 saw that my father — who 
w'as a very powerful man — had conquered the other two policemen. 
He seemed suddenly to have recovered from his intoxication ; and 
now helped me to carry the constable I had felled, to the nearest 
public house — where the man died a few hours after the affray. 

“ I was tried for manslaughter, and sentenced to ten years trans- 
portation. 

“ Not until then, did evil thoughts ever make their home in my 
mind. 

“ Up till the time 1 was torn from my relatives — for whom I had 
a great affection — and from the girl whom I fondly loved, I am 
willing to be responsible to God and man, for every thought I had, 
or every act I did. Ever since, having been deprived of liberty — 
dragged from all near and dear — with every social tie broken — and 
robbed of everything for which I cared to live — I do not think my- 
self to blame for anything I may have done. I have been only a 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLUNG STONE. 


283 


link in a chain of circumstances — a victim of the transportation 
system of England, that transforms incipient crime into hardened 
villany. 

On arriving m New South Wales, I was placed in a gang with 
other convicts, and put to the business of pushing a wheel-barrow. 
We were employed in removing a hill, from the place where nature 
had set it ; for no other reason, I believe, than for the purpose of 
keeping us from being idle ! The labour was not severe, but the 
life was a very weary one. It was not the work that made it so to 
me. I was used to worK, and did not dislike it, if there had been 
any sense in the task we had to perform. But I had no more idea 
what my labour was for, than the wheel-barrow with which I per- 
formed it ; and therefore I could feel no more interest in the work, 
khan did the barrow itself. 

“ My toil was not sweetened with the reflection that it was in 
behalf of those I loved. On the contrary, I knew that the best 
years of my life were being uselessly squandered ; while my mother 
and her children were perhaps suffering for food. 

“ I often asked myself the question why I had been sent from 
home ? It could not have been to reform me, and make me lead a 
better life, after the expiration of the term for which I had been 
sentenced. It could not have been for that, for no youth could have 
been more innocent of all evil intentions than I was, up to the time 
of my unfortunate affair with the policeman. All the philosophers 
of earth could not devise a scheme better adapted to corrupt the 
morals of a young man — make him forget all the good he had ever 
learnt — harden his soul against all the better feelings of human 
nature — and transform him from a weak and frail mortal, with good 
intentions, into a very demon — than the transportation system of 
England. 

‘‘ From the age of twenty years, until that of thirty, I consider 
the most valuable part of a man’s existence ; and as this whole 
period was taken from me, I naturally regarded the future of my 
life as scarce worth possessing. I became recklessly indifferent as 
to what my actions might be ; and from that time they were wholly 
guided by the circumstances of the hour. 

Each month, I heard, or saw, something calculated to conduct 
me still further along the path of crime. I do not say that all my 
companions were bad men, but most of them were ; since my daily 
associates were thieves, and men guilty of crimes even worse than 
theft, I am willing to acknowledge — which is more than some of 


2d4 


LOST lenore; 


them would do — that the fact of their being convicts was strong 
evidence of their being wicked men. 

‘‘ After having spent nearly a year, between the trams of the 
wheel-barrow in the neighbourhood of Sydney, I was despatched 
with a gang to do some labourer’s work up the country. 

“ Most of the men in this gang were wickeder than those with 
whom 1 had been previously associated. This w'as perhaps owing 
to the fact that my new companions had been longer abroad, and 
were of course better trained to the transportation system. 

“ Some of them were suffering great agony through the want of 
tobacco and strong drink ; in both of which — being many of them 
‘ticket-of-leave’ holders — they had lately had a chance of freely in- 
dulging. That you may know something of the character of these 
men, and of the craving they had for tobacco, I shall tell you what 
I saw some of them do. 

“ Many of the wardens — as is usually the case — were greatly dis- 
liked by the convicts ; and the latter, of course, took every oppor- 
tunity of showing their hatred towards them. 

“ One morning, the gang refused to go to work — owing to a part 
of the usual allowance of food having been stopped from one of 
them, as they said, for no good reason. The overseer, in place of 
sending for the superintendent, attempted to force them to their 
tasks ; and the result was a ** row.” 

In the skrimmage that followed, one of the wardens — a man 
especially disliked by the convicts — was killed ; while the overseer 
himself was carried senseless from the ground. 

“ The dead warden had been a sailor, and liked his ‘quid.* He 
was generally to be seen with his mouth full of tobacco, and this 
was the case at the time he was killed. I saw the quid taken from 
his mouth, scarce ten minutes after he had become a corpse, by one 
of the convicts, who the instant after transferred it to his own ! 

“ The overseer, at the time he got knocked down, was smoking a 
pipe. Scarce three minutes after, 1 saw the same pipe in the mouth 
of one of the men, and from its head was rolling a thick cloud of 
smoke. 

“ The fire in the pipe had not been allowed to expire, and the man 
who was smoking it was one of those afterwards hung for the mui* 
der of the war^n I” 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE, 


28 ^ 


CHAPTER LXVI. 

squatters’ rustics. 

The old convict, as if reminded by the queer incidents he had re* 
lated, that he himself stood in need of a smoke, here took out hia 
pipe. After filling and lighting it, he resumed his narrative. 

“ Owing to refractory conduct on my part, and a dislike to 
crawling for the purpose of currying tavour with overseers, I did 
not get a fticket-ofileave’ until five years after landing in the colony. 

“I then received one — with permission to go as shepherd to a 
Squatter’s station’ up the country. For acting in this capacity, 1 was 
to receive ten pounds a-year of wages. 

1 found the shepherd’s lite a very weary one. The labour /as 
not sufficient to keep me from thinking. During the whole day 1 
had but little to do — except to indulge in regrets for the past, and 
despair of the future. Each day was so much like the one preceed- 
ing it, that the time was not only monotonous, but terribly tire- 
some. 

Had I deserted my employment, I knew that I should be re- 
captured ; and a new sentence passed upon me. My only hope of 
obtaining full freedom — at the end of my ten years’ term, was by 
doing my duty as well as I could. 

** One morning, after I had been about ten months in my shep- 
herd’s berth, as I was letting the sheep out of the enclosure, the 
squatter who owned the station, his overseer, and another man, 
came riding up. 

“ The sun was more than half an hour above the horizon ; and 
as I ought to have had the sheep out upon the grass by sunrise 1 
was afraid the squatter would blame me for neglecting my duty. 
I was agreeably surprised at his not doing go. 

‘•He bade me ‘good morning ;’ lit his pipe, took a look at 
sheep ; and then rode away along with the others. 


LOST LENORl ; 


2G 


This treatment instead of making me more neglectful, only ren. 
dered me more attentive to my duty ; and every morning for three 
weeks after, the sheep were out of the yard by the first appearance 
of day- break. 

*'• It was summer time, and the nights being very short, I could 
not always wake myself at such an early hour. The consequence 
was, that about three weeks before the expiration of the year, for 
which I was bound, my employer again caught me napping — nearly 
an hour after sun-up — with the sheep still in the pen. 

“ The squatter would listen to no excuse. I was taken direct be- 
fore a magistrate — who was also a * squatter’ — and charged with neg- 
lect of duty. 

‘‘ The charge was of course proved ; and I was dismissed from 
my employment. 

“ You may think that this was no punishment ; but you will have 
a different opinion when you hear more. My year of apprentice- 
ship not being quite up, my wages were forfeited ; and I was told, 
that I ought to be thankful for the mercy shown me ; in my not 
getting severely flogged, and sent back to the authorities, with a 
black mark against my name. 

“ I probably did my duty, as well as any man the squatter ex- 
pected to get; and I had good reason to know, that I had been dis- 
missed only to give my rascally employer the opportunity of with- 
holding the balance of my wages, that would soon have been due to 
me. 

“ The only magistrates in the grazing country, were the squatters 
themselves ; and they used to play into each other’s hands in that 
fashion. There was no justice for convicts ; who were treated but 
little better than slaves. 

“ Three months after leaving my situation, I came across an ‘ old 
hand,’ who had been cheated out of his wages, by the very same 
squatter who had robbed me, and in precisely the same manner. 

“ This man proposed to me that we should take revenge, by burn- 
ing down the squatter’s wool-sheds. 

“ I refused to have anything to do with the undertaking ; and from 
what the man then said, I supposed that he had relinquished the idea. 
That night, however, altogether unknown to me he set fire to the 
sheds — causing the squatter a loss of about three thousand pounds 
worth of property. The next day I was arrested and commited for 
trial — along with the old hand, who had urged me to aid him in ob- 
taining his revenge. 


OR, THB ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE 287 

• On the trial, circumstantial evidence was so strong against the 
incendiary, that he was found guilty. But as he continued to assert 
his innocence, of course he could say nothing that would clear me ; 
and 1 was also found guilty — though the only evidence against me 
was, that I had been seen in his company eight hours before the 
crime was committed, and that I had been dismissed from service 
by the proprietor of the sheds. 

“ This was thought sufficient evidence upon which to sentence me 
to five years hard labour on the roads — the first two years of the 
term to be passed in irons. 

“ I now despaired of ever seeing home again ; and became like 
many other convicts, so reckless as to have no thought for the fu- 
ture, and not to care whether my deeds were right or wrong. 

“ Had I acted as many of the very worst convicts are in the habit 
of doing — that is, fawning upon the overseers — I might have re- 
gained my liberty in two years and a half ; but I never could crawl, 
or play the hypocrite ; and all the less so, that I knew my sentence 
was unjust. Neither could 1 allow the ill-usage of others to pass 
without complaint; and frequently did I complain. For doing this, 
I had to serve the full term of my sentence ; while others, much 
worse than myself, by using a little deception, obtained their liberty 
on ‘ tickets-of-leave.’ 

“ After the term of my transportation had expired, I was no bet- 
ter than most of the ‘ old hands.’ If 1 have not committed all the 
crimes of which many of them are guilty, the reason is, that I had 
not the temptation ; for, I acknowledge, that 1 have now completely 
lost the moral power to restrain me from crime. 

“ I happened to be free when gold was discovered in New South 
Wales ; and, of course, 1 hastened to the place. After the discovery 
of the rich diggings here, I came overland to try them. 

“ In my gold seeking, I cannot complain of want of success ; and 
I have not spent all that I have made. 

I am thinking of going back to England — although my visit to 
my native country cannot be a very pleasant one. 1 have probably 
some brothers and sisters still living; but, notwithstanding the 
strong affection I once had for them, they are nothing to me now. 
All human feeling has been flogged, starved, and tortured out of 
me. 

“ Sometimes, when I reflect on the degradations I have endured, I 
am ashamed to think of myself as a human being. 

“ When I look back to the innocent and happy days of my boy- 


288 


LOST LENORB ; 


hood — of what I aspired to be — only an honest, respectable, hard, 
working man ; when I contrast those days, and those humble hopes, 
with the scenes I have since passed through, and my present condi. 
tion — my back scarred with repeated floggings and my limbs 
marked by the wear of iron fetters — I am not unwilling to die. 

“ I am glad to learn that a change has been made in the mode of 
punishing crime in the mother country. It has not been done too 
soon : for, bad as many of the convicts are — who are transported 
from the large cities of the United Kingdom — they cannot be other- 
wise than made worse, by the system followed here. A convict 
coming to this country meets with no associations, precepts, or ex- 
amples, that tend to reform him ; but, on the contrary, every evil 
passion and propensity is strengthened, if it has existed before ; and 
imbibed if it has not. 

“ Having told you a good deal of my past, I should like to be 
able to add something of my future ; but cannot. Some men are 
very ingenious in inventing food for hope ; I am not. I don’t know 
for what I am living ; for every good and earnest motive seems to 
have been stifled within me. Hope, love, despair, revenge, and all 
the other mental powers that move man to action, are dead with- 
in my heart. 1 have nothing more to tell you of myself; and 
probably never shall have.” 

So ended the sad story of the convict. 


OB. THE ADVENTUllES OF A KOLLINO STONE. 




CHAPTER LXVn. 

RAFFLING AWAY A WIFE. 

Our claim on the Avoca “ lead” turned out to be worth nothing; 
and we had five or six weeks of hard toil before us. My mate con- 
tinued temperate and industrious ; and we got along together with- 
out any misunderstanding. 

One day we were informed by a man passing our tent, that a very 
interesting affair was to come off that evening — at a certain grog 
shop not far from where we lived. 

My partner was strongly advised to be there : as there would be 
a spectacle worth witnessing. 

“ Shall you go I asked, after the man had gone. 

“ No — not alone,” replied he, “ the place has a bad name; and I 
know that one of the parties concerned in what is to take place is a 
bad bird. You go along with me, and you’ll see some amusement.” 

“ Have you any idea what it’s to be I inquired. 

“ Yes. I think they are going to have a raffle.” 

“ A raffle ! There’s nothing very interesting about that !” 

“ That depends,"” significantly rejoined my partner. “ Supposing 
it is a woman to be raffled for 1” 

“ A woman to be raffled for 

*‘So I believe. There is a Hobart Town man here, who has a 
young wife, with whom he has been quarrelling for the last month. 
He has found out that it is impossible to live with her any longer ; 
and is going to put her up to be raffled for.” 

I had seen a negro slave disposed of in this fashion in the city of 
New Orleans ; but had never heard of a man raffling away his 
wife ; and the oddness of the thing determined me to go. Having 
signified my intention to my mate, he promised to take me to the 
place, and also take care of me while there. 

The reader may think this precaution unnecessary — after having 
managed for so many years to take care of myself. But I knew 
that amongst “ old hands,” the protection or friendship, of one of 


290 


LOST lbnorb; 


their own *• kidney” was worth having ; and I certainly would not 
have gone, without some one to introduce, and look after me — one 
such as my mining partner, who knew their ways, and would give 
them to understand that I was not to be molested. 

At that time on the gold field of Avoca, there were probably 
about ten men to one woman ; and a man, who was so fortunate as 
to possess a wife, was thought to be a very lucky individual indeed. 

Any woman, however ugly she might have appeared in other lands, 
would there have passed fora Venus. Knowing this to be the state 
of things, I was not surprised, when, on reaching the grog shop 
with my companion, we found a large crowd of between thirty and 
forty men assembled around it. In one way only was I astonished ; 
and that was, that the majority of those present were not “ old 
hands,” but rather the contrary. 

This observation was also made by my companion, who shook 
his head significantly, but said nothing. 

I did not understand what meaning he intended to convey by this 
gesture — at least not at the time. 

From the appearance of the crowd collected round the grog shop 
I had no doubt but that I should be well rewarded for my trouble < 
in walking to the place. I could see that some pains had been 
taken in selecting the company : for it appeared to be composed of 
that class of young miners — known as “ fast,” and “ flush” — that 
is with money to spend, and the disposition to spend it. ; 

The woman who was to be disposed of, was in the room, seated 
on the edge of a table, and swinging her legs about with perfect 
nonchalance. One of her eyes bore, in distinct characters of a pur- 
plish hue, some evidence of a very late disagreement with her hus- 
band, or some one else. She seemed much pleased at the commo- 
tion she was causing ; and quite indifferent as to its results. She 
was about twenty-three years of age ; and rather good looking. 

The husband was about forty years old ; and was a vulgar look- , 
ing wretch — even for a “ Vandemonian.” His features were 
twisted into a disgusting leer ; from which I could well fancy they t 
were seldom relieved. f 

I was not surprised at the woman seeming pleased at the idea of ^ 
parting with him. My wonder was, how, he had ever been allowed I 
to obtain the power of disposing of her. 

There was not a man in the room, or perhaps on the diggings, j 
that any creature entitled to the name of woman, should not have 
preferred, to the ugly animal who claimed to be her husband. ^ 


OR, THR ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 291 

I could perceive from the woman’s behaviour, that she possessed 
a violent temper ; which to an ignorant brute of a man, would no 
doubt render her difficult of being managed. But there appeared 
to be nothing more against her — at least, nothing to prevent a man 
of common sense from living with her, and having no more serious 
misunderstandings, than such as are usually required to vary the 
monotony of connubial life. 

The business of getting up the raffle, and carrying it through, was 
managed by a young man, who played the part of mutual friend — 
the proprietor of the article at stake, being to all appearance too 
drunk, or too ignorant, to act as master of the ceremonies. 

After a sufficient number of persons were thought to have arrived 
upon the ground, it was decided to go on with the business of dis- 
covering to whom fate should decree the future ownership of the 
woman. 

“ Gentlemen !” said the mutual friend, rising up, and placing 
himself upon a chair, “ I suppose you all know the game that’s 
up to-night? I believe that most of you be aware that my 
friend * Brumming’ here, can’t agree with his old woman, nor she 
with him ; and he have come to the resolution of getting rid of her. 
He thinks he’d be better off without a woman, than with one ; es- 
pecially with one he can’t agree with. And she thinks any other 
man be better than Ned ‘ Brumming.’ Such being the case, they 
think they had better part. Now, ‘Brumming’ wants a little 
money to take him over to the other side : and to rise it for him, 
his friends have been called together, and his woman is going to be 
put at a raffle for fifty pounds — ^twenty -five chances at two pounds a 
chance. Mrs. Brumming is willing to live with any man, as will 
support her, and use her kindly. Who is going to help poor Ned 
Brumming ? What name shall I first put down on this ’ere paper ?” 

“ Dirty Dick,” “ Jack Rag,” “ Hell Fryer,” “ Shiny Bright,” 
and several other names were called out — to to the number of 
twenty. 

It was then announced that five names were still wanted to com- 
plete the list. 

“ I’ll take a chance,” said a man stepping forward to the table 
where the names were being written out. 

This individual thus presenting himself, bore every evidence of 
having obtained a passage to the colonies at the expense of his nR* 
live country — about twenty-five years before. 


292 


LOST LBKORl ; 


‘‘ What name shall 1 put down asked the youthful master of 
the ceremonies. 

“ Jimmy from Town.” 

“Jimmy from h — 1!” screamed the woman. “You had better 
save your money Jimmy from Town. 1 wouldn’t live with a beast 
like you, if you were to win me ten times over.” 

The prospect of losing his two pounds, and gaining nothing, 
caused the old convict to retire ; which he did, apparently with 
good grace. 

“ We must pay something for this entertainment,” whispered my 
mate ; “ I will go halves with you in a chance.” 

As he said this, he slipped a sovereign into my hand. 

I did not fully understand what my partner meant. He surely 
could not be thinking of our winning the woman, and owning her 
in partnership, as we did our mining claim? 

But as he said something about our paying for the entertainment^ 
and having trusted myself to him before I came away from my 
tent — I gave the name of “ Roily,” to the manager of the raffle anV 
put down the two pounds. 

Two others then came forward, took a chance each, and paid foi 
their stakes. There were now only two more “ tickets” to dispose of 

Amongst the first who had entered their name upon the list, wj^ 
a young miner, who to all appearance, took a greater interest in th* 
proceedings than any person present. 

1 saw the woman give a glance, that might be interpreted into th^ 
words, “ I wish you would win me.” He appeared to notice it 
and take the hint ; for he immediately entered himself for anothe 
chance. 

The remaining share was then taken by somebody else ; and th 
ceremony of throwing the dice was commenced. 

Each was to have three throws, taking three dice at each throw 
and the man who should score the highest number, was to win tlJ 
woman. 

A name would be called out, as it stood on the list ; the owne 
of it would then come forward, and throw the dice — when the num 
ber he should score would be recorded against his name. 

All the numbers made, chanced to be very low, none of thert 
reaching over thirty -eight — until 1 had finished “ tossing the bones 
when I was told that the aggregate recorded in my favour was fo» 
ty-seven. 

I felt as good as certain the woman was mine : for the chancy, 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLINO STONE. 293 

were more lhan a hundred to one against any of the five others 
who were to throw after me. 

The young fellow who had paid for two shares, looked very 
blank ; his remaining chance was now scarce worth a shilling. 

“ 1 will give fifteen pounds for your throw,” said he, addressing 
himself to me. 

1 glanced at my mate, and saw him give his head a slight inclina- 
tion ; as a sign for me to accept the ofer, which 1 did. 

The money was paid down; and after all had finished tossing, 
number forty-seven was declared the winner. This had been my 
score. The woman, therefore, belonged to the young man, who had 
bought it from me. She was at once handed over to him ; and in- 
augurated the “ nuptials” by flinging her arms around his neck, and 
giving him a sonorous “ buss” upon the cheek ! 

After we came away from the place, I learnt from my mate, that 
the affair was what he called a “ sell.” 

“Then why did you propose that we should take a chancel” I 
asked. 

“Why,” he replied, with a significant shrug, “ well, Fll tell you. 
I was told to come to the raffle, because I was working with you 
— who they thought would be likely to take a share. Had you not 
taken one, they would have supposed that 1 had cautioned you not 
to do so ; and I should have made enemies amongst some of the 
old hands — who loolc upon me as, being in all things, one of them- 
selves.” 

“ And you think that the woman will not live with the young 
man who won her V' 

“ I’m sure of it. She’ll go along with him for awhile ; but she 
won’t stay with him. She’ll run away from him — join Drumming, 
again — and the two will repeat the same dodge at some other dig- 
gings.” 

I divided the fifteen pounds with my partner ; and retired to my 
tent — well pleased that I had so disposed of my chance, and no 
little amused at the grotesque chapter of “ life on the Avoca,” it 
had been my fortune to be witness to. 

A few weeks after the occurrence, I read in a newspaper ; that 
the police on the Bendigo diggings had arrested a man for trying to 
dispose of his wife by a raffle; and I have no doubt that i** 

“ poor old Ned Bruinming !” 


294 


LOST LENORS ; 


CHAPTER LXVin. 

^ CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TRAP. 

A “ claim” adjoining the one in which my partner and I were 
working, was much richer than ours. The primitive rock lay far- 
ther below the surface — showing that there had been a basin in the 
creek, or river, that hundreds of years before had flowed over the 
“ vale of Avoca.” 

In this basin had been deposited a great quantity of earth con- 
taining gold j for the soil was thickly impregnated with the pre- ■ 
cious metal. 

The claim was owned by three men. Two of them appeared to j 

be respectable young fellows ; and I incidentally learnt from them, | 

that they had been playmates in boyhood, shipmates on their voy- j 

age to the colony, and had worked together ever since their arrival * 

at the diggings. An old convict was a third partner of these two j 

young men. He had first marked out the claim, and for a while ] 

kept sole possession of it ; but seeing that he would be unable to 
manage it by himself, he had allowed the other two to take shares 
in it. - 

They had joined the convict only for that one job ; and had done j 

so, because they could not find any other favourable opportunity for j 

“getting on the line.” > 

One day, when I was standing by at the windlass of our own j 
shaft, I saw the old convict come towards his claim — apparently af- 
ter having been to his dinner. 

I had observed one of the young men let himself down the 
shaft, but a few minutes before. Soon after, I heard his voice 
from below calling to the convict — who had placed himself by the 
windlass, after his arrival. I then saw the latter lower the rope, 
and hoist the young man to the surface. The old convict was then 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLUNO STONE. 295 

lowered down ; and, as soon as he detached himself from the rope 
below, I noticed that the young man hastily drew it up and in a 
manner that betrayed some extraordinary excitement. 

“ Hoist up your mate, and bring him here,” he called to me. 
“ Quick ! Tve something terrible to tell you of.” 

1 called to my partner to get on the tackle ; and, as soon as he 
had done so, I drew him up out of the shaft. 

While I was doing this, the young man who had called to me, 
summoned some others in the same manner ; and five or six men 
who chanced to be near, hastened up to the spot. 

As soon as we were assembled around him, the young fellow be- 
gan : 

“ I have a strange story to tell you all,” said he. “ My friend 
has been murdered ; and the man who has committed the crime is 
below. We have him sure. Will some one go to the ‘camp^ for 
the police? I shall not leave this spot, till I see the murderer in 
their custody, or see him dead.” 

The commotion, caused by this startling announcement, brought 
several others to the place ; and a crowd was soon collected around 
the claim. Two or three started off for the police encampment. 

While waiting for their return, the young man, who had called 
us around him, give an explanation in having summoned us thus 
strangely. 

** I came up out of the shaft,” said he, about half-past eleven 
o’clock ; and went home to cook dinner for myself and my friend. 
I left him along with our other mate — the murderer — who is now 
below, at work, stowing away some of the pipe-clay that we had 
finished working with. I expected him to follow me to his dinner 
in about half-an-hour after. I waited for him till nearly one ; and 
as he did not come, I ate my dinner alone, and then returned here 
to go on with the work. 

“ When I came back, I could see no one. I called d#wn the shafts 
thinking both were below. 

‘‘ As there was no answer, I let myself down by the rope, in. 
tending to go to work by myself. I supposed that my mates had 
strayed off to some grog-shop — where they might spend a good part 
of tifie afternoon. They had done this once before ; and I thought 
they might do it again. 

“ After getting below, I lit the candle ; and looked about to see 
what they had been doing, since I left them at eleven o’clock. 


296 


LOST lenoke; 


‘‘The first thing that met my eyes, was the toe of a bootsticking 
out of the pipe-clay — where we had been stowing it away, in the 
worked-out part of the shaft. What, thought I, is their object in 
burying the boot there ? 

“ I took hold of it — there was just enough of it protruding out of 
the pipe-clay to enable me to get a grasp of it. I felt that there was 
a foot in it. It was a boot belonging to my friend. 1 knew it — 
notwithstanding its being plastered over with the clay. I drew 
out the boot ; and along with it the dead body of the man to 
whom it belonged. He was dead ! I think it is probable he was 
not quite dead, when covered up ; and that in his death-spasm he 
had somehow moved his foot, causing it to protrude a little out of 
the clay. 

“ I have no doubt,” continued the young miner, “ that seeing that 
boot has saved my own life ; for the man who has murdered my 
friend, would have served me in the same way, had we both been 
down below, and 1 ignorant of what he had already done. 

“Just as I was about climbing up the rope to get out, I saw the 
man who is now below here, preparing to let himself down. 1 
called to him, in my natural tone of voice ; and told him that I 
wanted to go above for a minute — to get a drink. This, no doubt 
put him off his guard ; and he helped me up. 

“ I then asked him what had become of Bill — that was my 
friend’s name. 

“ ‘ He did not come home to dinner,’ said I ‘ and he is not be- 
low. 

“ ‘ When we came up to dinner,’ said he, ‘ and were about Start- 
ing away from here, I saw Bill meet a stranger, and shake hands 
with him. They went off together.’ 

“ I suggested that he might probably have strayed off upon a 
spree ; and we were not likely to get any more work out of him 
that day. I added, that, after I had had my drink, we could both 
go below, and work without him. This seemed to please my other 
partner — who at once desired to be let down into the shaft. 

“ I lowered him at his request — telling him I should follow soon 
after. 

“ He and his victim are now in the shaft. Had he succeeded in 
killing both of us, he would not only have got all the gold we had 
obtained in the claim, but some more besides.” 

This story exc'ted in the minds of all present, a feeling of horror 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 297 

joined to a keen desire for retribution. Several shouted oui to the 
old convict — commanding him to come up; that his crime was 
known, and escape was impossible. 

The murderer must have heard every word ; but no answer was 
returned either to the threats or commands of those above. There 
was no occasion for the latter, either to be in haste, or in any way 
uneasy about the man making his escape. He could not possibly 
get clear from the trap, into which his partner had so adroitly ca^ 
joled him. He must either come out of the shaft, or starve at the 
bottom of it. 

The policemen, soon after, arrived upon the ground ; and were 
made acquainted with all the circumstances. 

One of them hailed the convict, commanding him “ in the queen’s 
name” to come up. 

“ You are a prisoner,” said the policeman, ‘‘ you cannot es- 
cape ; and you may as well surrender at once.” 

There was no answer. 

One of the policemen then placed himself in a bowline knot at 
the end of the rope; and was gently lowered down into the shaft, 
several men standing by at the windlass. 

‘‘Hold there!” cried the convict from below. “The instant 
you reach the bottom. I’ll drive my pick-axe through you.” 

The men at the windlass ceased turning — leaving the policeman 
suspended half way down. 

He was a man of superior courage ; and cocking his revolver, he 
called to the convict that he was going down anyhow — adding, that 
the first move made to molest him in the execution of his duty, 
w'ould be a signal for him to blow out the brains of the man who 
should make it. 

He then called to the miners at the windlass to “ lower away.” 

“ Drop your pick !” shouted the policeman, as he came near the 
bottom of the shaft — at the same time covering the convict with his 
revolver. 

The murderer saw the folly of resisting. It was impossible for 
him to escape — even could he have killed the officer, and a dozen 
more besides. 

Some of the “Queen’s Jewellery” was soon adjusted upon his 
wrists, and the rope having been fastened around his body, he was 
hoisted up into the light of heaven. 

The policemen were going to stop, until they could examine the 


298 


LOST lenorb; 


body of the murdered man ; but they perceived that the indignation 
of the crowd was fast rising to such a pitch, that it was necessary 
for the prisoner to be carried to some place of security — else he 
might be taken out of their hands. 

None of the spectators seemed anxious either to rescue, or kill 
the man. Each one appeared to be satisfied by getting a kick or 
blow at him. The mind of every honest miner on the ground had 
been shocked by the cruel crime that had been committed ; and 
each appeared to think he had himself a score of revenge to wipe 
off against the perpetrator. 

Each wished to calm his outraged feelings, by inflicting some 
chastisement upon the criminal ; and still leave to the justice of God 
and the law, the task of punishing him for the murder. 

The police did their best to protect their prisoner, but on their 
way to the station, they were followed by an indignant crowd of 
miners, who kicked and scratched the old convict till he was nearly 
lifeless in their hands. 

When the body of the murdered man had been brought out of 
the shaft, it was found that the sharp point of a pick-axe had been 
driven through his skull. The wound was in the back part of the 
head — proving that the victim had received the blow from behind, 
and most probably without any warning. A similar fate would 
undoubtedly have befallen his friend, had he not made the discovery 
which enabled him to avert it. 

The murderer was sent down to Melbourne to be locked up till 
the sitting of the Criminal Court. 

The day after the funeral of the murdered man, the only one of 
the three partners left to work out the claim, made his appearance 
upon the spot. 

Before commencing work, he came over to me, and we had a long 
conversation together, 

“ If I had only myself to think of,” said he, “ I would have 
nothing farther to do with this claim. It cannot be very pleasant 
to me to work in it, after what has occurred. The young man who 
has been killed, was my playmate in boyhood, and my constant 
companion ever since we left home together. I shall have to carry 
back to his father, mother, and sisters, the news of his sad fate. His 
relations are very poor people, and it took every penny thev could 
scrape together to furnish him with the means for coming out here. 
My duty to them, and to his memory, is the sole cause of my con- 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 29S 

tinuing any longer to work the claim. However painful the task 
may be, I must perform it. I shall obtain all the gold it may 
yield ; and every speck to which my murdered friend should have 
been entitled, shall be paid over to his relatives. I know that they 
had rather see himself return penniless to them, than to have all the 
gold of Australia ; but for all that he shall not be robbed, as well 
us murdered. 

“ I have often heard him speak of the pleasure it would give him 
to return to his relations with his gold. 1 can only show my re- 
spect for his wishes, by taking them the money to which he would 
have been entitled, had he lived, to work out his claim. It shall be 
done without his aid, but his relations shall have the yield of it, all 
the same as if he had lived.” 

Whenever the windlass was to be used in bringing np the “wash 
dirt” from below — or the surviving partner wanted assistance in any 
\^ay — it was cheerfully rendered by the miners at work in the ad- 
joining claims. 

By the time he had completed his task, he was summoned to 
Melbourne, as a witness on the trial of the murderer ; and, after 
his leaving the Avoca diggings, I saw him no more. 

I afterwards learnt from the Melbourne Argus, that the old con- 
vict was found guilty of the murder, and ended his earthly exifit* 
«nce on the gallows. 


CHAPTER LXTX. 


A LARK WITH THE “ LICENSE-HUNTERS.” 

After we had completed the w'orking of our claim in the Avo«a 
lead, ray partner — who had told me that his name was Brown — 
signified his intention of returning home to England. 

“ 1 have saved between three and four hundred pounds,” said he, 
“ and shouldn’t know what to do with it here. I’ve been thinking 
of going home for several years past, and now’s the time to do it.” 

Instead of attemptmg to dissuade him, I rather encouraged him 
in his design, telling him that, if dissatisfied with his visit to his 
native country, he could return to the diggings — before they should 
get worked out — and try his fortune once more. 

He had heard me speak of going myself back to England some 
time or other, and he urged me to make the voyage along with 
him. 

I should probably have acceeded to his request, had he not pressed 
me so strongly ; but I have a great aversion to doing anything that 
I am vehemently solicited to do. 

If there is anything which will make me do the very thing I know 
to be wrong, it is when some one counsels me too pressingly against 
doing it. I have a great ‘penchant for being guided by my own 
judgment ; and I believe that very little good is done by giving 
advice, to those who are old enough to think and act for them 
selves. 

In answer to my partner's request, I told him that I should prob- 
ably return to England in about a year, but was not then ready to 
go. 

Though a little disappointed at my not accompanying him. Brow n 
and I parted on good terms. He left full directions with me for 
finding him in Birmingham — should I ever go to that city ; and 


OR, THK ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 301 

warmly urged upon me to call and see him. 1 gave him a promise 
to do so. 

“ I believe you are a respectable, right-thinking man,” said he, 
as we shook hands at parting ; you have treated me as though I 
was the same, and that’s more than 1 have been accustomed to for 
the last score of years.” 

On leaving me, Brown proceeded direct to Melbourne, where he 
took ship for England. 

For two or three days after he had left me, I looked about the 
diggings — undecided what I should next do. 

One afternoon, while sauntering at a little distance from my tent, 
I saw some policemen, with a squad of mounted troopers, out on 
the patrol. A “ licensing commissioner” at their head, proved that 
they were looking for “ unlicensed miners.” 

I never went abroad without a miner’s license in my pocket ; but 
I felt a strong dislike to showing it — solely on account of the manner 
in which the demand to do so, was usually made. 

I shall have something to say about “ license hunting” in another 
chapter — where the subject will be introduced, and more fully dis- 
cussed. My present purpose is to relate a little adventure which 
occurred to me at Avoca — of which the license hunters were the 
heroes. It was this episode, that first awakened within my mind 
some thoughts about the infamous system of drawing a revenue, 
from the most honest and industrious portion of the population. 

It is usual for diggers — who are not provided with a license — on 
seeing the police out upon their scouting excursions, either to take 
to the bush, or hide themselves in the shaft, or tunnel, of some 
mining claim. This is done to avoid being searched ; and, as a 
matter of course, carried before a magistrate, and fined five pounds 
for — Trespassing on the Grown lands ! 

On the occasion in question, when I saw the license hunters out 
on their usual errand, it came into my head to have a little amuse- 
ment with them. I had been going idle for two or three days, and 
wanted something to amuse me — as well as give exercise to my 
limbs. 

When the policemen had got within about a hundred yards of 
where I was standing, I pretended to see them for the first time, and 
started off at a run. They saw me, as I intended they should, and 
two or three of them gave chase— under the full belief that I was 
an unlicensed digger. They that first followed me were a-foot, and 
they soon learnt that the farther they puisued, the greater became 


302 


LOST LENORE : 


the distance between them and me. Two of the mounted troopers 
now left the side of the Commissioner, and joined in the chase- 
spurring their horses into a gallop. 

I was running in the direction of my own tent ; and contrived to 
reach it, before the troopers overtook me. 

By the time they had got up to the tent, I was standing in the 
opening of the canvass, and received them by demanding their 
business. 

“We wish to see your license,” said one. 

I took fi*om my pocket the piece of paper ; legally authorising me 
to “ search for, dig, and remove gold from the Crown lands of the 
colony.” I handed it to the trooper. 

He appeared much disappointed at finding it was “ all right.” 

“ What made you run away from us ?” he demanded, angrily. 

“ What made you think I was running away from you 1” I in- 
quired in turn. 

“ What made you run at all 1” put in the second trooper. 

“ Because I was in haste to reach home,” I answered. 

The two then talked together in a low voice ; after which one of 
them told me that I must go along with them. 

“ For what reason ?” I asked ; but received no answer. They 
were either unwilling, or unable, to give me a reason. 

The two policemen, who had pursued me on foot, now came up ; 
and all four insisted on my being taken along with them, a prisoner, 
to the police camp ! 

I refused to come out of the tent, and cautioned them not to enter 
it — without showing me their warrant, or some authority for the 
intrusion. 

They paid no attention to what I said, but stepping inside the 
tent, rudely conducted me out of it. 

I accompanied them without making resistance — thinking that 
when brought before a magistrate, I should get them reprimanded 
for what they had done. 

In the afternoon, I was arraigned before the “bench,” and charged 
with molesting and interfering with the police in the execution of 
their duty ! My accusers told their story, and I was called upon 
for my defence. 

I informed the magistrate that I had never been an unlicensed 
miner for a single day, since I had been on the diggings ; and I en- 
tered upon a long speech — to prove, that in moving about the gold- 
fields, 1 had the right to travel at any rate of speed I might choose, 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 


803 


and that I had unlawfully been dragged out of my tent — which 
being my “castle,” should not have been invaded in the manner it 
had been. 

This is what I intended to have said ; but I did not get the op- 
portunity of making my forensic display, for the magistrate cut 
me short, by stating that I had been playing what the diggers call 
a “ lark and by doing so, had drawn the police from their duty. 
They had been seeking for those who really had not licenses, and 
who, through my misbehaviour, might have been able to make their 
escape ! 

In conclusion, this sapient justice fined me forty shillings ! 

There was an injustice about this decision — as well as the manner 
in which I had been treated — that aroused my indignation. I had 
broken no law ; I had done nothing but what any free subject had 
a right to do ; yet I had been treated as a criminal, and mulcted of 
my money — in fact, robbed of two pounds sterling ! 

After this affair, 1 was disgusted with Avoca ; and, in less than 
an hour after, 1 rolled up my blankets, and took the road for Balla- 
rat — this being the place to which I always turned, when not know- 
ing where else to go. 

Everyone must have some place that they look upon as a home 
a point from which to start or take departure. Mine was Ballarat, 
for the reason that I liked that place better than any other in the 
colony. 

I had made more money on the Ballarat diggings than elsewhere 
in Australia ; and I had never left the place to go to any other, 
without having cause to regret the change. This time, I determined, 
on my return to Ballarat, to stay there — until 1 should be ready to 
hid a final adieu to Australia. 


304 


LOST lenore; 


CHAPTER LXX. 

DIGGER HUNTING. 

Soon after my arrival at Ballarat, the mining population of the place 
was roused to a state of great excitement — by being constantly 
worried about their gold licenses. 

All engaged in the occupation of mining, were required to take 
out a monthly license ; for which one pound ten shillings had to be 
paid. Each miner was required to carry this license upon his per- 
son, and produce it whenever required to do so, by the commissioner, 
or any official acting under his authority. 

It was not to the tax of eighteen pounds per annum that the 
miners objected ; but to the manner in which it was levied and en- 
forced. 

The diggers did not like to be so often accosted by a body of 
armed men, and compelled to show a piece of paper — in the event 
of them not having it about them, to be dragged off to the Court, 
and fined five pounds. 

After some show of opposition to tliis tax — or rather to the way 
of enforcing it — had begun to exhibit itself, the government officials 
became more industrious than ever at their occupation of “ digger 
hunting.” A commissioner, with a band of mounted troopers, 
might have been seen out every day — scouring the country far and 
near, and commanding every man they met to produce his license. 
Not unfrequently an honest miner would be required to exhibit the 
disagreeable document as often as four or five times a day. 

The diggers soon got tired of this sort of thing, which was enough 
to have exasperated men of a more tranquil tone of mind, than gold 
diggers usually are. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


305 


Meetings were called and attended by many hundreds of miners ; 
at which strong resolutions were passed, to resist the arrest of any 
man, who should be taken up for not having a gold license. 

These resolutions could not be effectually carried into effect, 
without some organization amongst those who had passed them. 

This was to a certain extent accomplished, by about four hundred 
^diggers forming themselves into an organized band, and commencing 
'^to drill and discipline in a sort of military fashion. 

Thinking the wrongs of the diggers a sufficient justification for 
this action on their part, I joined one of the companies thus formed 
— with the full determination to assist, as far as lay in my power, 
in the removal of the injustice complained of. 

I did not think there was anything in English law — properly un- 
derstood and administered — that would allow thousands of men to 
be constantly hunted, harrassed and insulted by bands of armed 
police, demanding to see a piece of paper ; but perhaps my expe- 
rience of the way “justice” was administered at Avoca, had some- 
thing to do in guiding my resolution to resist it at Ballarat. 

At our meetings, the diggers indignantly declared their determi- 
nation to overthrow the system that made them game for the min- 
ions of the Government ; and to prove that they were in earnest in 
what they said, many of them were seen to tear up their licenses 
upon the spot, and light their pipes with the torn fragments of the 
pa^r ! 

From that time, whenever an attempt w^as made by the police to 
arrest a man without a license, it was resisted by large mobs of 
diggers ; and on two or three occasions both police and troopers 
were compelled to retreat to their encampment. 

The police force on Ballarat was soon increased in number, and a 
large body of regular troops was sent up from Melbourne. 

The diggers saw that they could no longer oppose this force, 
without maintaining a body of their owm men in arms, and for this 
purpose a select number was chosen ; who, having been regularly 
organized into companies, formed a camp on the Eureka lead. 

Some of the lying officials of the government have represented 
this camp to have been strongly fortified — the lie being propagated 
to secure them greater credit for their bravery in capturing it. 

The statement was altogether untrue. The Eureka stockade was 
nothing more than an inclosure formed with slabs of timber — such 
as were used to wall in the shafts sunk on wet leads — and could no 


80« 


LOST lknork; 


more be called a fortification, than the hurdles used by farmers for 
penning up a flock of sheep. 

The importance attached to the movement, on the part of the 
government officials, was ludicrous in the extreme. 

Martial law was proclaimed in Ballarat, and several hundred 
pounds were expended in filling bags of sand, and fortifying the 
Treasury at Melbourne — about one hundred miles from the scene 
of the emeute ! 

The idea of the diggers marching to Melbourne, and molesting 
the Government property there, was simply ridiculous. The 
authorities must have held an opinion of the men they governed, 
not very complimentary to the liege subjects of Her Majesty. 

Because the miners objected to being hunted and worried for a 
piece of paper — proving that they had paid eighteen pounds per 
annum of tax, more than any other class of the population — the 
Government officials seemed to think that a causeless rebellion had 
broken out, which threatened to overthrow the whole British 
Empire ; and which nothing but low scheming and barbarous action 
could quell. 

Thousands of ounces of gold were lying on deposit in the Escort 
Office at Ballarat ; yet had the mutineers taken the place, 1 am con- 
fident this treasure would have been protected, and restored to its 
rightful owners. 

But there was no intention on the part of the diggers, either to 
touch Ballarat, or its gold. They only maintained an armed body 
at the Eureka Stockade, because they could in no other way resist 
the raids of the troopers who were sent out license-hunting. They 
were as innoeent of all intention to overthrow the Government ; 
“ loot” the Escort Office at Ballarat ; or march upon Melbourne, as 
babes unborn. 

Their only object was to have English law properly administered 
to them ; or rather, to resist the violation of it by the minions who 
had been appointed to its execution. 

This the Government might have learnt — and probably did 
learn — from the policemen disguised as diggers, who took part in 
the proceedings at the Eureka Stockade ; for these communicated 
all they learnt, and no doubt a good deal more, to the officials in 
the Government camp. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLINO STONE. 


30 ? 


CHAPTER LXXI. 

A GENIUS IN THE DIGGINGS. 

When I went to join the insurgents at the Stockade, I was aceom* 
panied by a man, who had been living in a tent near my own — a 
German ; whom I only knew by the name of “ Karl.” He was as 
singular a man, as was to be met amongst the many incomprehen- 
sible characters found on a gold field. He was only twenty-five 
years of age ; though he had already travelled over much of the 
world, and spoke several languages fluently. He know something 
of the literature, science, arts, and customs of almost every nation, 
ancient or modern ; and having a wonderful memory, as well as a 
great command of language, he could be very entertaining in con- 
versation. My attention was .first called to the extraordinary pow- 
er of his memory, by hearing him once talking on the relative merits 
of the poets. 

He appeared to know all the poetical writings of the English, 
German, and Italian authors by heart : as he could repeat long pas- 
sages from any of them, when called upon. 

I remember, amongst many severe criticisms which he gave us on 
the poetry of Byron, his quoting the phrases of sad knee,” “ mel- 
odious tears,” “ cloudy groan,” poetic marble,” “ loud hill,” “fool- 
ish flower,” “ learned fingers,” and “ silly sword ;” all of which he 
mentioned were absurd expressions. 

The reader may think my sketch of this individual overdrawn, 
when I add, that in addition to his other accomplishments, he was 
not only a musician of great skill, but, in my opinion, a musical 
prodigy ; and excited more astonishment and admiration by his 
musical talents, than by any other of the many accomplishments he 
possessed. 

Often would he wander alone, where nature was most lovely ; 
and from her surrounding beautiea, add inspiration to the melody 
that filled his souL 


308 


LOST lenore; 


The notes of birds, the whispering of the winds, and the miir. 
murings of the streams, were all caught and combined, or harmoni- 
ously arranged in enchanting melodies ; which he would re-produce 
on his violin, after returning to his tent, in strains that seemed en- 
raptured. 

Never did I listen to the music made by him, without thinking 
myself a better man : for all the gentler sentiments of my soul would 
be awakened, and expanded into action under its influence. For 
hours would the sounds echo in my memory — making me forget 
the sorrows of the past, as well as the cares of the future; and 
turning my thoughts to an ideal world, where material ugliness is 
unknown. 

I defy any man with a soul superior to that of a monkey, to have 
been guilty of a mean or dishonest action, after listening to a tune 
composed and played by Karl the German. 

I do not call myself a judge of music, or of the relative merits 
of different musicians, and only form this opinion from the effect 
produced on my mind by his performance. 

I am not easily excited by musical, or dramatic representations; 
but Mario’s magnificent rendering of the death scene in “ Lucrezia 
Borgia,” or the astounding recklessness Alboni is accustomed to 
throw into the “Brindisi,” could never awaken within my soul 
such deep thoughts, as those often stirred by the simple strains of 
Karl’s violin. 

Though possessing all these great natural abilities — strengthened 
by travel, and experience in both men and books — Karl was a 
slave to one habit, that rendered all his talents unavailing, and hin- 
dered him from ever rising to the station, he might otherwise have 
held among men. 

He was a confirmed drunkard ; and could never be kept sober 
so long as there was a shilling in his pocket ! 

Pride had hitherto restrained him from seeking professional en- 
gagement, and exhibiting his musical talents to the world ; although 
according to his own story, he had been brought up to the profes- 
sion of a musician. He was even becoming celebrated in it, when 
the demon of intemperance made his acquaintance, and dragged him 
down to the lowest depths of poverty and despair. 

Once, when in Melbourne, starvation drove him to seek an inter- 
view with a manager of a theatre ; who listened with wonder and 
admiration to the soul-entrancing melody he produced. 

A sum far beyond his expectation was offered ; and money 


OR, THB ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING BTONB. 30?^ 

advanced to enable him to make a respectable appearance ; but on 
the night in which his dehut was to have been made, he was not 
forthcoming ! He had been found in the street, drunk and disorder- 
ly, and was carried to the lock-up — where he passed the evening 
among policemen, instead of exhibiting himself before a delighted 
audience on the stage of a theatre ! 

I know that he used every effort to subdue this passion for strong 
drink. But all proved unavailing. Notwithstanding the strength 
of his mind in other respects, he could not resist the fatal fascina- 
tion. 

Small minds may be subdued and controlled by worldly interests ; 
but the power to curb the action of a large and active intellect may 
not always lie within itself. 

Karl wished to join the insurgents — as they were called — at the 
Eureka Stockade ; and although myself anxious that their number 
should be augmented as much as possible, I endeavoured to per- 
suade him against having anything to do with the disturbance. 

The truth was, that I thought foreigners had at that time too 
much to say about the manner in which the colony was governed. 

Although 1 could not deny that the faults of which they complain- 
ed, in reality existed, yet I believed that they were not the persons 
who had the right to correct them. Many of the foreign diggers 
had a deal more to say, about the misgovernment of the colony, 
than any of Her Majesty’s subjects ; and I did not like to hear 
them talk treason. They had come to the colony for the purpose of 
making money — because Australia offered superior advantages for 
that purpose — and I thought that they should have been satisfied 
with the government found there, without taking upon themselves 
to reform its abuses. 

1 explained all this to Karl , but, while admitting the truth of 
what 1 said, he still adhered to his determination to take a part in 
the revolution of Eureka. 

Several times,” said he, “have I had armed men command me 
to show a license ; and I have also been imprisoned because I did 
not have that piece of paper in my pocket. I have several times 
been insulted in the colony, because I am not an Englishman. { 
care but little which gets the worst of this struggle^tlie piinions 
of the government or its subjects. Where thq ]>lood of either, OT 
both is to flow, there I wish to be.” 

I said nothing more to dissuade Karl from following this singular 
wish; but permittee^ him to accompany me to the stockade — where 
he was enrolled in one of the companies, ' ‘ 


LOST LENOKK « 


SIO 


CHAPTER LXXIl 

THE EUREKA ROUT. 

1 HAVE stated that about four hundred men were kept under arms 
at Ballarat, to oppose the amusement of digger-hunting, so much 
indulged in by the government officials. The former had now 
made their rendezvous at the stockade on the Eureka. 

They were accustomed to meet in the day, and get drilled by 
officers, whom they had appointed for this duty. During the night, 
most of them, who were residents of Ballarat, returned thither, and 
slept in their tents ; while others, who had come from Cres wick’s 
Creek and the more distant gold fields — to take part in the affair — 
remained at the boarding houses of the township. 

On the night of the 2nd of December, 1854, there were about 
one hundred and seventy men in the stockade. 

Having entered into the cause, I determined to devote my whole 
time to it ; and on that night 1 was there among the rest. 

The diggers, who were present, supposed they had as much right 
to stay in the stockade as elsewhere. 

They certainly were not interfering with the officials in the exe- 
cution of their duty ; nor, in any way, making a disturbance. 

There was no just cause why they should have been attacked on 
that particular night. It is true, that during the previous week, the 
troopers had been opposed by the diggers they were hunting ; and 
had in some cases been prevented from making arrests. But the 
authorities need not have supposed, that the men in the Eureka 
Stockade were the same who had offered this resistance. They 
could only have thought so, and acted on the belief, by a singular 
stretch of imagination. 

About half-past eleven o’clock, an alarm was given, that the sol- 
diers w^re approaching the stockade. All turned out, and were 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLUNG STONE. 


311 


prepared to defend themselves ; but the alarm proved a false one. 

At one o’clock in the morning there was another alarm ; which 
also proved to be without any just cause. 

At half-past two, there was still another false report ; to which 
only a very few paid any attention : as the men had got' tired of 
being so often roused from their slumbers without any cause. Only 
about half of their number turned out at this time ; and these were 
laughed at by the others — for allowing themselves to be unnecessa- 
rily frightened. 

About half-past four in the morning — just as the first faint light 
of day was seen on the eastern horizon — the camp was again set in 
commotion by the fourth alarm. 

This time there was a real cause: since soldiers and troopers 
could be seen through the twilight, riding towards the stockade. 

On the third of December, 1854, at half past four o’clock on that 
holy Sabbath morning, the people in the Eureka Stockade were at- 
tacked by English soldiers, and troopers in the pay of the Victorian 
Government. As the attack was altogether unexpected, they were 
of course unprepared to repel or resist it. 

It would have been little less than folly to have attempted resist- 
ance ; for the assailants numbered three hundred and ninety men, 
all well armed and mounted ; while the diggers, were less than half 
that number, and most of us only provided with fowling pieces. 

When the signal of attack was given, it was done in a manner 
that started the sleeping diggers to their legs; and these soon 
proved to be the most useful members of their bodies. The major- 
ity refused to obey the orders of the officers — which was to reserve 
their fire, until our assailants should come near. 

Most discharged their guns at the enemy, while still only dimly 
seen through the mist of the morning. After firing once, they fled. 
In an instant, the troopers were upon us. 

A few of the diggers upon this occasion proved themselves men 
of heroic courage. 1 saw young Ross, who commanded a company, 
shot dead at the head of his men — while vainly trying to induce 
them to stand firm. 

It seemed but a minute after the signal had been sounded, before 
the troopers broke down the palisades; and began shooting and 
hacking at us with their swords. 

“ I’m a Rolling Stone,” thought I, “ and do not like staying too 
long in one spot. The Eureka Stockade is not the place for me.” 

After making this reflection, I sprang over the palisades ; and 


312 


LOST lenorb; 


went off at a speed, that enabled me soon to distance many of my 
comrades who had started in advance of me. 

Amongst others passed in my flight, was Karl, the German ; who 
still persevered in his determination not to desert his digger asso^ 
ciates : since he was accompanying them in their retreat. 

He had not fled, however, until assured that our defeat was cer- 
tain : for I saw him inside the stockade, firing his revolver, shortly 
before I came away myself. 

I did not stay to speak to him ; for the troopers were closely pur- 
suing us ; and cutting down with their swords any man they could 
overtake. 

A majority of the routed diggers fled towards a tract of ground, 
that had been what the miners call, “ worked out.” 

This ground was so perforated with holes, that the troopers were 
unable to gallop their horses over it. Fortunate for the fugitives 
that these abandoned diggings lay so near the stockade — otherwise 
the slaughter would have been much greater than it was — in all 
probability amounting to half the number of the men who had been 
gathered there. 

The pursuit was not continued very far. The troopers soon lost 
all traces of those they were galloping after. Some of the diggers 
succeeded in reaching the bush ; while others concealed themselves 
in the shafts of the worked-out claims ; and, after a time, the sol- 
diers were recalled to exult over their easy victory. 

The regular soldiers of Her Majesty’s army took some prisoners 
in the stockade ; but so far as I saw, or could afterwards ascertain, 
the mounted policemen of the Colonial Government, made no 
attempt to capture a single digger. They showed no quarter ; but 
cut down, and in some instances horribly mutilated, all with whom 
they came in contact. 

Many of the routed diggers remained concealed in the bush, and 
other places of refuge, all that day ; perceiving no necessity for this 
as soon as the pursuit was over, I returned to my tent. In the 
afternoon, when quiet had to a certain extent been restored, I 
walked over to view the scene of strife, and take a look at the un- 
claimed corpses. Twenty -eight miners had been shot dead upon the 
spot ; but many more were missing — of whose fate nothing was 
ever afterwards known. A few probably fell, or were thrown, into 
some of the deep holes, through which the pursuit had been carried. 

Some of the dead had acquaintances and friends about Ballarat ; 
who afterwards removed their bodies, for the purpose of burial. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 313 

I saw several corpses that had been collected in one place, and 
were waiting for recognition. Amongst them was that of a young 
Austrian, whom I had known. His body had been pierced with 
five gun shot wounds — any one of which would have proved fatal. 

There was one corpse so mutilated and disfigured with sabre cuts, 
that the features could not be recognised by any with whom, when 
alive, the man had been acquainted. It was that of a miner who 
had a family in Ballarat. His body was afterwards identified by 
his wife, but only through some articles that were found in the 
pockets of his coat. 

I never saw, or heard of Karl after that fatal morning. Several 
days elapsed ; and his tent that stood near my own, remained un- 
claimed by its owner. It was still guarded by his dog ; which I fed 
on its chain — as some of my neighbours jocularly remarked — to 
keep it alive, for the pleasure of hearing it howl. Karl had proba- 
bly fallen down one of the deep holes, on the abandoned diggings, 
over which we had been pursued. 

At length, becoming weary of listening to the piteous howling 
of the dog, I set the animal at liberty, and on doing so, gave it a 
kick — this being the only means 1 could think of, to let it know that 
I wished to cut its further acquaintance. It was an ugly, mangy 
creature ; and all the respect I felt for the memory of its lost mas- 
ter, could not induce me to be troubled with it any longer. 

Four men were arrested, and tried as ringleaders in the “ Balla- 
rat rebellion.” They were charged with treason — with an intent to 
overthrow her Majesty’s Government, and Queen Victoria, and the 
Crown of England ! The Governor and his ministers wished the 
world to be informed, that they had succeeded in quelling a revolu- 
tion, that threatened destruction to the whole British empire! 

They thirsted for more blood ; but they did not get it. The jury 
before whom the prisoners were tried, acquitted them; and they 
were once more set at liberty. 

Not long after, the licensing system was abolished; and in its 
stead an export duty of two shilling and sixence per ounce, was 
levied upon the gold. This was certainly a more natural method 
of collecting the revenue ; and in every way more satisfactory. By 
it, the unsuccessful miner was not called upon to pay as much as 
one who had been fortunate; and the diggers were no longer 
annoyed and insulted by the minions of the Licensing Commission. 


314 


LOST LENORS; 


CHAPTER LXXIII. 

BURIED ALIVE. 

From Ballarat, I went to the great rush at Mount Blackwood ; and 
pitched my tent on a part of that gold field, known as the “ Red 
Hill.” 

Mount Blackwood was more heavily and thickly timbered, than 
any other of the Victorian gold fields. The surface of the ground 
was very uneven ; and the soil on the rocks of but little depth. It 
was difficult to find a horizontal space, of sufficient size, for the 
pitching of an ordinary miner’s tent ; and to see such stupendous 
trees growing on the steep hill-sides, with scarce soil enough to cover 
their roots, was matter of surprise to everybody who came to Mount 
Blackwood. 

About three weeks after the rush had commenced — and after 
several thousand people had gathered there — we were visited one 
night by a terrific gale, or more properly speaking a “ hurricane.” 

Hundreds of large trees — which owing to the shallow soil, could 
not take deep root in the rock underneath — were blown down. 

The night was very dark ; and no one could see from what side 
a tree might at any moment come crashing. A space of ground, 
out of reach of the fallen trunks, was not to be found on the gold 
field. The consequence was, that thirteen people were killed for 
certain ; and many more severely injured, all through the falling of 
the trees. 

But the number of fatal accidents, caused by the hurricane of that 
night, was probably never known. 

The night was one of horror and fear to more than eight thousand 
people — each one of whom knew not the minute that death might 
be his portion. A miner and his wife, while endeavoring to escape 
to a place of safety, were crushed under the same tree. Had they 
remained in their tent they would have escaped uninjured ! But 
what was still more singular in this unfortunate incident : the woman, 


OR, THE ADVE^^TURE^^ OF ^ ROLLIN» STONE. 315 

wnen struck by the tree, was carrying a child, which received not 
the slightest injury, while both the parents were killed on the spot ! 

The day after the storm, Mount Blackwood presented a very for- 
lorn appearance. Hundreds of trees had been prostrated by the 
wind ; and nearly every tent had been thrown down. 

Ever since that night, I can understand the fear, that some sailors 
entertain, of a storm upon land. 

I had very little success in gold digging at Mount Blackwood ; 
but while there, an incident occurred that was interesting to me ; so 
much so, as to be deserving of a place among these my adventures. 

I expect to die some time ; but fervently hope and pray, that my 
existence may not be terminated by suffocation — either by means 
of a rope, or otherwise. I profess to have a horror of that mode 
of death : for the simple reason that 1 have made trial of it, and 
found the sensation anything but pleasant. 

While at Mount Blackwood, I worked a claim in company with 
three others. 

I was taken into this partnership, by a man I had known at Bal- 
larat. He went by the name of “Yorkey” — from him being a 
Yorkshireman — and was the only one of the “ firm” with whom I 
formed much acquaintance. 

I was at work in a tunnel of the claim, where we had not used 
sufficient caution in supporting the top of the tunnel with timber. 

Although the shaft was not a wide one, the earth being a little 
damp, and composed of loose shingle, required propping up. As I 
had neglected this, about a cart load of the shingle fell down, bury- 
ing me completely under it. 

The weight upon my limbs was so great, that I could not move 
them ; and I lay as if I had been chained to the spot. 

At the time, two of my mining partners was also below, work- 
ing in another part of the tunnel. Of course they heard the little 
earthquake, and came to my assistance. 

The task of digging me out, proved more difficult than they ex- 
pected : for there was not room for both my mates to work at the 
same time — besides, they could not handle either pick or shovel to 
any great effect, lest they might injure my limbs. 

*We had been called up for dinner; and I was on the point of 
climbing out of the tunnel, just at ^.le moment the earth fell in. 

Our mates above, had grdwn impatient at our delay ; and com- 
menced shouting for us to come up. I heard one of those below 
responding to them I could not understand what he said; but 


316 


XiOST LBNORB ; 

ftflerwards learnt, that he was merely telling them what had hap< 
pened. 

Never shall I forget the strange sound of that man’s voice. J 
suppose, for the reason that I was buried in the earth, it seemed un- 
earthly. 1 could form no idea of the distance the speaker was from 
me. His voice seemed to come from some place thousands of miles 
{. way — in fact from another world. I was sensible that some mis- 
' hance had occurred — that I was buried alive, and in great agony ; 
l*ut the voice I heard seemed to proceed from the remotest part of 
an immense cavern in some planet, far down in the depths of space. 
It commanded me to come thither : and I thought I w'as preparing 
to obey that command, by ceasing to live : but the necessary prep- 
aration for another existence appeared to require a long time in be- 
ing completed. 

In my struggles for respiration, I fancied that stones and earth 
were passing through my lungs ; and hours, days and weeks seemed 
to be spent in this sort of agony. It was real agony — so real as not 
to beget insensibility. On the contrary, my conciousness of ex- 
istence remained both clear and active. 

I wondered why 1 did not die of starvation ; and tried to discov- 
er if there was any principle in nature that would enable a person, 
when buried alive, to resist the demands of hunger and live forever 
without food. It seemed impossible for me to die. One vast world 
appeared to be compressing me against another ; but they could not 
both crush out the agony of my existence. 

At length the thought occurred to me that I was dead ; and that 
in another world I was undergoing punishment for crimes commit- 
ted in that I had left. 

“ What have I ever done,” thought I, “ that this horrible torture 
should be inflicted on me 

Every link in memory’s chain was presented to my mental ex- 
amination, and minutely examined. 

They were all perfect to my view ; but none of them seemed 
connected with any act in the past, that should have consigned me 
to the torture I was suffering. 

My agony at last produced its effect ; and I was released from it. 
I gradually became unconscious, or nearly so. There was still a 
sensation of pain — of something indescribably wrong ; but the keen 
sensibility of it, both mental and bodily, had novr passed away. 
This semi-unconscious state did not seem the result of the accident 
that had befallen me. I thought it had arisen from long years of 


OR, THB ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 317 

mental care and bodily suffering ; and was the involuntary repose 
of a spirit exhausted by sheer contention, with all the ills that men 
may endure upon earth. Then I felt myself transferred from this 
state to another quite different — one of the true physical pain, in- 
tense and excruciating ; though it no longer resembled the indescrib- 
able horror I had experienced, while trying to inhale the rocks that 
were crushing the life out of me. 

My head was now uncovered ; and I was breathing fast and free- 

Jy- 

Though in great pain, I was now conscious, of all that was trans- 
piring. 

I could hear the voice of ‘ Yorkey,’ speaking in his native York- 
shire dialect, and encouraging me with the statement that 1 would 
soon be out of danger. 

Notwithstanding the pain I still suffered, I was happy — I believe 
never more so in my life. The horrible agony I had been enduring 
for the want of breath had passed away ; and, as I recognised the 
voice of the kind-hearted Yorkshireman, I knew that everything 
would be done for me that man could do. 

I was not mistaken : for ‘ Yorkey’ soon after succeeded in getting 
my arms and legs extracted from the shingle ; and I was hoisted up 
to the surface of the earth. 

Previous to this accident, 1 had but a faint idea of how much I 
valued life, or rather how much I had hitherto undervalued the en- 
durance of death. 

My -sufferings, whilst buried in the tunnel, were almost as great 
as those 1 had felt on first learning the loss of Lenore ! 

This accident had the effect of sadly disgusting me with the ro- 
mantic occupation of gold digging — at all events it made me weary 
of a digger’s life on Mount Blackwood — where the best claim I 
could discover, paid but very little more than the expenses incurred 
in working it. 

I thought Mount Blackwood, for several reasons, the most dis- 
agreeable part of Victoria I had ever visited, excepting Geelong. 
I had a bad impression of the place on first reaching it ; and w'ork- 
ing hard for several weeks, without making anything, did not do 
much towards removing that impression. I determined, therefore, 
to go back to Ballarat — not a little dissatisfied with myself for hav- 
ing left it. After my experience of the Avoca diggings, I had re- 
solved to remain permanently at Ballarat — believing it to be the 
best gold field in the Colony— but I had allowed false reports of the 


318 


LOST LENORE 1 


richness of Mount Blackwood to affect this resolution ; and I was 
not without the consolation of knowing, that the misfortunes that 
befel me at the latter place were attributable to my own folly ; in 
lending a too ready ear to idle exaggerations. 


OR, THR ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 




CHAPTER LXXIV. 

THE “elephant” and HIS MATE. 

For several days after my “exhumation,” I vras compelled to re- 
main in my tent, an invalid. 

When at length I became able to take the road, 1 started back for 
Ballarat ; where 1 arrived after an arduous journey on foot, that 
lasted nearly three days. 

On again becoming fairly settled on this far-famed gold field, I 
purchased a share in a claim on the “ Gravel-pits” lead. 

This speculation proved fortunate : for the prospect turned out a 
good one. The gold 1 expected to obtain from my claim — added to 
what I had previously accumulated — promised to amount to a con- 
siderable sum. With this, I should have been willing to relinquish 
the hardships of a miner’s life, and follow some less laborious occu- 
pation. 

When I thought of doing so, however, certain difficulties always 
presented themselves. 

What should I do ? What other profession could I follow ? 
These were interrogatories, not easily answered. 

Where I should go, after leaving the diggings, was a subject for 
profound consideration. For what reason should I go anywhere? 
What purpose had I to accomplish by going anywhere, or doing 
anything? While asking myself these questions, I thought of 
Jessie; though not with pleasure ; for then within my mind would 
arise a temptation hard to resist. 

Unable to shape out any plan, I left it to circumstances ; and 
toiled on from day to day, with no more interest in the future than 
the shovel I held in my hands. 

How very different it appeared to be with the two young men, 
who were part owners of the claim, in which I had purchased a 
share! 


320 


LOST lenore; 


Our firm ” was a large concern, owned by ten of us in all ; and 
out of the number, there were but two who appeared to be toiling 
for an object. The majority of mankind think they are living and 
working for some purpose ; but many of them are mistaken. They 
have some wishes, with a faint desire to see them fulfilled. But 
few there are who labour with that determined resolve that cannot 
be shaken, or set aside by the circumstances of the hour. Men do 
uot often struggle with the determined spirit, that is ever certain to 
insure success. 

The most superficial observer could not have failed to perceive, 
that the two young men I have mentioned were acting under the in- 
fluence of some motive stronger than common. 

The energy they displayed in their toil, the firmness they exhibit- 
ed in resisting the many temptations set before them, their disre- 
gard of the past, their anxiety for the present, and confidence in the 
future — all told me that they were toiling for a purpose. They 
acted, as if they had never met with any serious disappointment in 
life ; and as if they fully believed that Fortune’s smiles might be 
won by those who deserve them. 

I knew they must be happy in this belief ; for I once indulged in 
it myself. I could envy them ; while hoping that, unlike me, the ob- 
ject for which they were exerting themselves might be accomplished. 
1 had seen many young men — both in California and Australia — 
yielding to the temptations that beset them ; and squandering the 
most valuable part of their lives in dissipation — scattering the very 
gold, in the accumulation of which they had already sacrificed both 
health and strength. It was a pleasure, therefore, to witness the be- 
haviour of these two young miners; actuated by principles too pure 
and strong to be conquered by the follies that had ruined so many. 
For this reason, I could not help wishing them success ; and I sincerely 
hoped that virtue, in their case, might meet with its reward. 

Nearly everyone has some cause for self-gratification — some little 
revenue of happiness that makes him resigned to all ordinary condi’ 
tions of life. 

My two companions wished to acquire a certain sum of money, for 
a certain purpose. They had every reason to believe their wishes 
would be fulfilled ; and were contented in their toil. Such was once 
the case with myself ; but my circumstances had sadly changed. I 
had nothing to accomplish, nothing to hope for. 

And yet this unfortunate state of existence was not without some 
reflections, that partially reconciled me to my fate. Others were 


OR, THR ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


321 


toiling on with hopes that might end in disappointment ; and I was 
not. Apprehensions for the future that might trouble them, were no 
longer a source of anxiety to me] 

One of the young men, whom I have thus ceremoniously intro, 
duced, was named Alexander Oliphant. He was better known 
amongst us as “the Elephant” — a distinction partly suggested by 
his name, and partly owing to his herculean strength. He was a 
native of the colonies — New South Wales — though he differed very 
much in personal appearance from the majority of the native born in- 
habitants of that colony, who are generally of a slender make. “ The 
Elephant” was about six feet in height, but of a stout build, and pos- 
sessing great physical strength. Although born and brought up in 
New South Wales, his conversation proclaimed him familiar with 
most of the sights to be witnessed in London, Paris, and many other 
of the large cities of Europe. He appeared to have been well edu- 
cated ; and altogether there was a mystery about the man, that 1 
could not comprehend. I did not try to fathom it. Men working 
together on the fields are seldom inquisitive ; and two mates will 
often associate, throughout the whole period of their partnership 
without either becoming acquainted with a single circumstance of 
the past life of the other — often, indeed, without even learning each 
other’s family names. 

I was along with Edmund Lee — already mentioned in my narra- 
tive — for many months : and yet he never heard my name, until the 
hour of our parting in Callao — when we were entering into an 
arrangement to correspond with each other. 

The second of the young men I have spoken about, was known 
to us simply as, “ Sailor Bill.” He seldom had anything to say to 
anyone. We only knew, that he had been a sailor ; and that he was 
to all appearance everything an honest fellow should be. He had 
worked with Oliphant for more than a year ; and, although the 
two appeared to be on intimate terms of acquaintance — and actually 
were warm friends — neither knew anything of the private history 
of the other. 

As soon as we should have completed our claim on the Gravel- 
pits lead, Oliphant and Bill declared there intention of proceeding 
to Melbourne — to return to the diggings no more. They had both 
been fortunate, they said — having obtained the full amount for 
which they had been toiling, and something more. 

They were going to realize those hopes and wishes, that had 


132 tOST LEKOEX ; 

cheered and inspired them through the weary hours of their gold 
dicing life. 

%ey were both quite young. Perhaps they had parents in pov- 
erty, whom they were intending to relieve ? Perhaps others might 
be waiting for their return, and would be made happy by it 1 The 
joy of anticipating such a happiness was once mine ; and I could 
imagine the agreeable emotions that must have occupied the thoughts 
of my two companions— -once my own — to be mine no more. 

They were going to give up gold digging — with spirits light, and 
hopes bright, perhaps to enter upon some new and pleasanter 
sphere of action ; while I could bethink me of nothing that would 
ever more restore my lost happiness. For me there was nothing 
but to continue the monotonous existence my comrades were so soon 
to forsake- 


on, THK ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


323 


CHAPTER LXXV. 

A DINNER-PARTY OF DIGGERS. 

r 

Our claim was at length completed, and we — the shareholders^ 
with some of our friends determined to hold a little jollification. 

We engaged a private room in the hotel, where we had divided 
our gold ; and, after settling all accounts, we sat down to as good a 
dinner, as the landlord could place upon his table. 

After dinner, our pipes were lit ; and the only business before 
us, was to find some amusement for the rest of the evening. 

“ Rule Britannia,” “ The Red, White, and Blue,” and “ The Flag 
that braved a Thousand Years,” were sung, and duly applauded. 
The poet of the company then gave us a song of his own compos- 
ing ; which, whatever may have been its merits, met with the ap- 
proval of the company. 

As it was understood that “ the Elephant” and “ Bill” were go- 
ing to give up gold digging for good, and were to start for Mel- 
bourne the next day, one of the party came out with a proposal, 
warmly seconded by the rest. 

Elephant,” said the person thus proposing, “ now that you and 
Bill have made your fortunes, and are going to give up the business, 
suppose you tell us all what you intend doing with your money — 
so that, when we have made our fortune, we shall have your ex- 
ample to guide us in spending it?” 

The individual who had made this request, had once been a con- 
vict in Tasmania. He was rather a good-looking man, about forty- 
five years of age, and went by the name of Norton. The little 
bird called “ rumour,” had chirrupped about the diggings many 
tales of his former achievements in crime, all of which, seemed to 
have been forgotten. 

The reader may ask, why those of our company, who professed 
to be respectable men, should associate with one who had manifest 
ly been a transported felon. 


324 


LOST LENORK ; 


The answer is, that we were in circumstances very different 
from those who might think of putting such a question. Ten or 
twelve men were required for working a mine on the Gravel-pits ; 
and where nearly all the people of the place were strangers to each 
other, a man could not very well make choice of his companions ; 
at least not all of them. Norton had bought a share in the claim 
from one of the first holders of it ; and all that the rest of us 
could require of him, was, that he should perform his share of the 
work. 

On such an occasion as that of dividing the gold, he had as much 
right to be one of the company, as any other shareholder. 

“ I will agree to what you propose, on one condition,” responded 
the Elephant, *to the proposal of Norton ; “ and I have no doubt 
but that my friend. Bill, will do the same. But in order that you may 
understand what I intend doing in the future, it will be necessary 
that you should be told something of my past. This I am willing 
to make known, if you, Norton, will give us a true account of tha 
principal events of your life ; and Bill will gratify your curiosity 
on the same terms 1” 

“ Oh certainly,” said Bill ; “ if Norton will give us his historv 
I’ll give mine.” 

The idea of an old convict giving us a true account of his mis 
fortunes and crimes, was thought to be a very happy one ; and the 
whole company were amused at the way the “ Elephant” had do 
feated Norton’s attempt to gratify his curiosity ; for they had n 
idea that the convict would make a “ confession.” But to the surpri^ 
of all, he accepted the terms ; and declared himself ready arfi 
willing to tell ‘‘ the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but thf 
truth.” 

Oliphant and Bill could not retreat from the position they had 
taken, and Norton was called upon to commence. The glassor 
were again filled, and the short black pipes relit. 

The company kept profound silence — showing the deep interes' 
they felt in hearing the life narrative of a man, with whose crimtl 
rumour had already made them partially acquainted. 

“ I am,” began Norton, the son of a poor man — a day la 
bourer ; and was born in the north of Scotland. Inspired by tb 
hopes common to youth, I married early. In consequence, I had U 
endure the misery every man must meet, who is cursed with pov 
erty, and blessed with a family he is unable to support. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 


325 


** The mutual affection my wife and I entertained for each other, 
only increased our wretchedness. It was agony to see one who 
loved me, having to endure the privations and hardships to which 
our poverty subjected us. 

“ By almost superhuman exertions, and by living half starved, I 
managed at last to scrape together a sufficient sum to take me to 
America — where I hoped to be able to provide a home for my wife 
and child. 

“ I had not the means to take them along with me ; though I left 
enough to secure, what I thought, would be a permanent home for 
them until 1 should return. 

“My wife had a brother — an only relative — who lived in a lonely 
house among the hills. He and his wife kindly agreed to give my 
old woman a home, until I should either return or send for her. 

“ I will not weary you with the particulars of what I did in Amer- 
ica — more than to state that I went to the copper mines near Lake 
Superior ; and that I was not there a year, before I was so fortunate 
as to find a rich vein of ore, which I sold to a mining company for 
6,000 dollars. 

“ I sent my wife a part of this money, along with the intelligence, 
that I would soon return for her. With the rest I purchased a small 
farm in the southern part of the state of Ohio ; and leaving a man in 
charge of it, I returned to Scotland for my family. 

“ I got back in the middle of winter — in December. It was a 
very cold morning, when I arrived in sight of the hovel, that con- 
tained all I loved most dear on earth. It was Christmas Day; 
and, in order to have the pleasure of spending it along with my wife, 
I had walked all the night before. When I drew near the house, I 
noticed that the snow — that had been falling for two days — lay un- 
trodden around the door ! 

“ I hurried up, inside ; when I saw, lying on the floor, and partly 
covered with rags, my wife and child. They were what men call — 
dead I 

“ The appearance of the hut, and of the dead bodies told me all. 
They had died of cold and hunger. 

“ I afterwards learnt, that my brother-in-law had died some time 
before ; and that his wife immediately afterwards had gone away 
from the hovel to join some of her own relatives, who lived near 
the border. 

“ My poor wife had disposed of everything that would sell for a 


326 


LOST lenore; 


penny; and had in vain endeavoured to find employment. The 
distance of the hut from any neighbour, had prevented her from 
receiving assistance in the last hours of her existence : for no one 
had been aware of the state of destitution to which she had been 
reduced. 

“ During the severe storm preceding her decease, she had proba- 
bly lingered too long in the hut to be able to escape fi*om it; and 
had miserably perished as in a prison. 

“ Neither she, nor the child could have been dead for any length 
of time. Their corpses were scarcely cold ; and it was horrible fr»r 
me to think, that I had been walking in the greatest haste through- 
out all that stormy night, and yet had arrived too late to rescue 
them ! 

“ While sitting by their lifeless forms, in an agony of mind that 
words cannot describe, I was disturbed by the arrival of a stranger. 
It turned out to be the post carrier ; who stepping inside the hut, 
handed me a letter. At a glance, I saw it was the letter I sent 
from America — enclosing a draft for twenty-five pounds. 

“ ‘ Why has this letter not been delivered before?’ I inquired of 
the man, speaking as calmly as 1 could. 

“ He apologized : by saying that the letter had only been in his 
p 'ssession four days! and that no one could expect him to come 
that distance in a snow storm, when he had no other letter to de- 
liver on the way ! 

“ I took up an old chair — the only article of furniture — and 
knocked the man senseless to the floor. 

“ His skull was broken by the blow ; and he soon after died. 

I was tried, and convicted of manslaughter ; for which I re- 
ceived a sentence of ten years transportation. 

“At the end of three years, I obtained a ticket-ofleave for good 
conduct. And now, gentlemen, I have nothing more to tell you, 
that would be worth your listening to.” 

At the conclusion of Norton’s narrative, several of the company 
who seemed to be restraining themselves with great difficulty, broke 
into loud shouts of laughter. Norton did not appear to be at all 
displeased at this, as 1 thought, unseemly exhibition ! ’ 

I afterwards learnt why he had taken it in such good part. It was 
generally known, that he had been transported for robbing a post- 
man ; and the cause of their mirth was the contrast between the 
general belief, and his own special account of the crime. 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 321 

For my part, I could not join in their mirth. His story had 
been told with such an air of truth, that I could not bring myself 
to disbelieve it. If not true, the man deserved some consideration 
for the talent he had exhibited in the construction of his story : for 
never was truth better counterfeited, or fiction more cunningly con- 
cealed, under an air of ingenuous sincerity. 


CHAPTER LXXVI. 


THE “ elephant’s” AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

When tranquility had been again restored, the “Elephant” was called 
on for his autobiography — which was given nearly as follows : — 

“ My father is a ‘ squatter’ in New South Wales — where I my- 
self was born. 

“ At the age of seventeen, I was sent to England to be educated ; 
and, being well supplied with money, the design of those who sent 
me was not defeated : for I did learn a good deal — although the 
knowledge I obtained, was not exactly of the kind my parents had 
meant me to acquire. 

“ I possessed the strength, and soon acquired the skill, to defeat 
all my fellow students in rowing or sculling a boat. I was also the 
best hand amongst them with a bat. I became perfect in many 
other branches of knowledge, of like utility. During my sojourn in 
Europe, I made several trips to Paris — where I obtained an insight 
into the manners and customs of that gay capital. 

“ My father had a sister living in London — a rich widow, who 
had an only daughter. I called on them two or three times, as I 
could not well avoid doing so. I was not infatuated with my cous- 
in ; nor did my visits beget in my mind any gi’eat affection for my 
aunt. 

“ Her husband had been dead several years before that time. 
He had been related to a family of title, and on his death had left 
a fortune to his widow of about fifty thousand pounds. 

“ My father considered his sister a person of great consequence 
in the kingdom ; and used to keep up a regular correspondence with 
her. 

“ When I was about twenty-two, I received a letter from him, 
commanding me forthwith to marry my cousin ! 

“ He had made the match with my aunt, without consulting my 
wishes. 

“ The deluded man thought the plan he had formed for me, would 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 329 

make me a very great personage. But I could not regard the affair 
in the same light. 

“Soon after receiving my father’s orders, my aunt sent me a 
note — containing a request for me to call upon her. 

“ I complied ; and found that she considered the thing as quite 
settled ; that 1 was forthwith to marry my cousin. In fact, my aunt 
at this interview had a good deal to say about preparations for the 
ceremony ! 

“ My cousin was neither personally good-looking, nor interesting 
in any way. On the contrary, she had a disposition exceedingly 
disagreeable ; and to crown all, she was a full half-dozen years older 
than myself. 

Soon after that interview with my English relations, I embarked 
for Sydney. I had been for some time anxious to return home. As 
I have told you. New South Wales is my native country ; and I 
prefer it to any other. I had seen enough of Europe ; and longed 
to gallop a horse over the broad plains of my native land. 

“ On my return home, and reporting that I had not married my 
rich cousin, my father flew into a great passion, and refused to have 
anything farther to do with me. 

“ I tried to reason with him ; but it was of no use. It ended by 
his turning me out of his house ; and telling me to go and earn my 
own living. This I did for some time, by driving a hackney coadi 
through the streets of Sydney. 

“ My father, on finding that I was man enough to take care of 
myself, without requiring any assistance from him, began to take a 
little interest in my affairs. In doing so, he discovered something 
else — that caused him quite as much displeasure as my refusal to 
marry my English cousin. 

“ He learnt that I was making serious love to a poor, but honest 
girl ; who, with her mother, scarce earned a subsistence, by toiling 
fourteen hours a-day with her needle. 

“ To think I should let slip a woman with fifty thousand pounds, 
and could claim relationship with a family of title — and then marry 
a poor sewing girl, was proof to my father that I was a downright 
idiot ; and, from that hour, he refused to acknowledge me as his 
son. 

“When gold was discovered in these diggings I gave up my 
hackney business ; took an affectionate leave of my girl ; and came 
out here. 

“ I’ve been lucky ; and I shall start to-morrow for Sydney. I 


3o0 


LOST LGNORE ; 


shall find the one I love waiting for me — I hope, with some impa. 
tience ; and, if I don’t miscalculate time, we shall be married, be- 
fore I’ve been a week in Sydney. 

I am young ; and have health and strength. With these advan- 
tages, I should not consider myself a man, if, in a new world like 
this, I allowed my warmest inclinations to be subdued by the self, 
ish worldly influences,that control the thoughts and actions of Euro- 
pean people.” 

I believe the company were a little disappointed in the “ Ele- 
phant’s” story. From the remarkable character of the man, and, 
the evidence of superior polish and education — exhibited both in his 
taring and conversation, all had expected a more interesting narra- 
tive, something more than the tale he had told us, and which was al- 
together too simple to excite their admiration. Some of them 
could not help expressing their surprise, at what they pronounced 
the silliness of the “ Elephant ” in “ sacking” a fine lady with fifty 
thousand pounds, and an aristocratic connection, for a poor Sydney 
sempstress. To many of them, this part of the story seemed 
scarce credible ; though, for my part I believed every word of it. 

Reasoning from what 1 knew of the character of the narrator, I 
felt convinced that he was incapable of telling an untruth — even to 
amuse his audience ; and I doubted not that he had refused his rich 
English cousin ; and was really going to marry the poor sewing 
girl of Sydney. 

In judging of the Elephant — to use his own words — I did not al- 
low my “ inclinations to be subdued by the selfish worldly influ- 
ences that control the thoughts and actions of European people.” 


OR, THR ADVRRTURSa OF A ROLUNQ STONE. 


331 


CHAPTER LXXVn. 

SAILOR bill’s life TARN. 

As the autobiography of the “ Elephant,” had been of too common* 
place a character to create any excitement, there was but little m* 
terruption in the proceedings ; and Sailor Bill, according to the con- 
ditions, was next called upon to spin the yarn of his life. 

Without any formality, he at once responded to the call. 

When a very small boy,” began he, “ I was what was called a 
gutter urchin, or ‘ mud-lark,’ about the streets and docks of Liver- 
pool. It was not exactly the business for which I had been intended. 
When very young, I had been apprenticed to a trade I did not much 
like, and to a master 1 liked still less. In fact, 1 hated the master 
so much, as to run away both from him and his trade ; and be- 
came a ragged wanderer in the streets. 

“ The profits of this profession were not so great, as to allow me 
to contract habits of idleness j though, somehow or other, I man- 
aged to live by it for nearly a year. 

“ I was one day overhauling some rubbish that had been thrown 
into a gutter, when a man ran against me ; and his feet becoming 
entangled in the rags that composed my costume, he was tripped 
up, and fell into the mud. 

“ He immediately got to his feet again ; and shook me until he 
was so exhausted and agitated, that he could do so no longer. 

While he was doing so, I was not idle. With my nails, teeth, 
and feet, I scratched, bit, and kicked him — with all the energy passion 
could produce. 

“ My desperate resistance, instead of further provoking, seemed 
to make a favourable impression on the mind of the man ; for, as 
soon as he had ceased shaking me, he declared that I was ‘ a noble 
little wretch,’ a • courageous little vagrant,’ and many other pet 
expressions equally conflicting. 


332 


LOST lsnore; 


“ Taking me by the hand, he led me along by his side : at the 
same time questioning me about my home and parents. 

“ Having satisfied himself, that he had as good a right to me as 
anybody — and perhaps a better by my being in his possession — he 
continued to drag me onward ; all the while muttering to himself, 

‘ Dirty little vagabond ! give him in charge to the police. Spirited 
boy ! give him in charge of my steward.’ 

“ Favourablv impressed with the general expression of his fea- 
tures, I ofiered no resistance to his taking me where he liked. The 
fact is, I did not care what became of me ; for I was independent 
of either fortune or circumstances. 

“ I was finally carried on board a ship ; and handed over to the 
care of her steward ; where, for the first time in three years, 1 had 
my body covered with a complete suit of clothes. 

“ The man who had thus taken possession of me, was a good na 
tured, eccentric old bachelor, about fifty years of age ; and was 
master and owner of the ship, that traded between Liverpool and 
Kingston, Jamaica. 

“ I remained with this man seven years ; and under his tuition, I 
obtained something of an education. Had I been his own son, he 
could not have shown more zeal, or taken greater pains to teach me. 

“ During all that time, his ship was my only home ; and I had 
nothing to tempt me away from it. It was all the world to me ; 
and of that world I was not long acquiring a knowledge. 

“ I was about twenty-one years of age, when I was made first 
officer of the ship. My father — for as such I had got to esteem the 
man who raised me from rags, and out of mud, to something like a 
human existence — was going to make one more voyage with me, 
and then lie by for the rest of his life — leaving me master of the 
ship. 

“We were on our return from Kingston, very deeply laden, 
when we encountered a severe gale. For some time, we allowed 
the ship to run with the wind — in order that we might keep on our 
course ; but the storm increased ; and this could not be done with 
safety. We were preparing to lay her head to sea ; when a wave 
rolled over the stern, aud swept the decks fore and aft. The cap- 
tian — my generous protector — and two of the sailors, were washed 
overboard ; and we could do nothing to save them. All three were 
lost. 

“ I took the ship to Liverpool ; where a wealthy merchant suc- 
©eded to the captain’s property. To make way for some friend of 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


333 


the new owner, I was discharged from the service — after receiving 
the few pounds due to me as wages. 

“ The commotion caused by the discovery of the Australian gold- 
fields, had then reached Liverpool; and seamen were shipping to 
Melbourne, asking only the nominal wages of one shilling a month. 
I was able to get a situation as second officer of a brig bound for 
that port. 

“We had one hundred and twelve passengers ; and amongst 
them was a bankrupt London merchant, emigrating with a large 
stock of pride, and a small stock of merchandise, to the golden 
land. He was accompanied by his wife and a beautiful daughter. 
To me, this young lady appeared lovely, modest, intelligent ; in 
short, everything that a young man — who for the first time had felt 
the tender passion, could wish its object to be. 

“ I had frequent opportunities of conversing with her — ^when she 
would be seated outside on the poop ; and many of my happiest 
moments were passed in her society, in those delightful evenings 
one experiences while crossing the Line. 

“ I soon saw that my attentions to his daughter, were displeasing 
to the proud merchant ; and I was told by the girl herself ; that she 
had been commanded to discourage my addresses. 

“ I sought an interview with the father ; and demanded from him 
his reasons for thus rejecting me. 1 was simply told : that the girl 
was his daughter, and that 1 was only a sailor. 

“ That same evening, when on duty, I was spoken to by the cap- 
tain in a harsh and ungentlemanly manner. I was in no pleasant 
humour at the time ; and to be thus addressed, in hearing of so 
many people — but more especially in the presence of her I loved, 
was a degradation I could not endure. I could not restrain my- 
self, from making a sharp and angry reply. 

“ The captain was a man of quick temper ; and, enraged at my 
insolence, he struck me in the face with his open hand. For this 
insult, I instantly knocked him down upon the deck. 

“ The remainder of the voyage I passed in irons. On arriving 
at Williamston, I was sentenced to two months imprisonment — du- 
ring which time I was confined on board a hulk anchored at Hob- 
son’s Bay. 

“ 1 made an attempt to escape ; and, being unsuccessful, I re- 
ceived a further sentence of two months hard labour on the hulk. 

“ When at length I received my liberty, I hastened to Melbourne. 
There I made inquiries for the merchant in hopes of being able to 


334 


LOST lbnore; 


obtain an interview with his daughter ; who was then the only be* 
ing on earth, for whom I entertained the slightest feeling ot Idend 
ship. 

I succeeded in finding the young lady ; and was conducted into 
the presence of her mother — who somewhat to my surprise, re- 
ceived me in the most cordial manner. 

“ The old merchant was dead. He had died within a month afi 
ter landing ; and the goods he had brought with him to the colony, 
not being suited to the market, had been sold for little more than 
the freight out from England had cost. His •w'idow and her 
daughter were living by their own industry — which, I need hardly 
tell you, was something they had never done before.” 

Here Sailor Bill paused, as if he had got to the end of his story. 

But his listeners were not contented with such a termination 
They believed there must be something more to come, perhaps more 
interesting than anything yet revealed ; and they clamoured for him 
to go on, and give them the finale. 

There’s nothing more,” said Bill, in response to the calls of the 
company ; “ at least nothing that would interest any of you.” 

“ Let us be the judges of that,” cried one. “ Come, Bill ; your 
story is not complete — finish it — finish it !” 

I’m sorry myself it’s not finished,” rejoined he. “ It won^t be, I 
suppose, until I get back to Melbourne.” 

‘‘ What then ?” inquired several voices. 

Well then,” said Bill, forced into a reluctant confession, “ I sup- 
pose it will end by my getting spliced.” 

“ And to the young lady, with whom you spent those pleasant 
evenings on the poopi” 

Exactly so. I’ve written to her, to say I’m coming to Mel- 
bourne. I intend to take her and her mother back to England — 
where they’ve long wished to go. Of course it would never do to 
make such a voyage, without first splicing the main brace, and se- 
curing the craft against all the dangers of the sea. For that reason, 
I’ve proposed to the young lady, that she and I make the voyage as 
man and wife ; and I’m happy to tell you that my proposal has been 
accepted. Now you’ve got the whole of my yarn.” 

And with this characteristic ending. Sailor Bill brought his story 
to * termination. 


M« TB> ADTIHTPRIS OF R KOLLINO STONS. 


33S 


CHAPTER LXXVIIL 

MTBROTHER WILLIAM, 

Th* next morning, I arose early, and went to Oliphant’s tent — to 
take leave of him and his companion Bill. 

I accompanied them to the public-house, from which the stage- 
coach to Geelong was to start. We stepped inside the house, to 
have a glass together. 

“ There’s a question,” said Bill, “ that I’ve often thought of put- 
ting to you. I’ve heard you called Rowland. Excuse my appear- 
ing to be inquisitive ; but I have a strong reason for it. You have 
some other name. Will you tell me what it isl” 

There is something extraordinary in the power and quickness of 
thought. Suddenly a conviction came over my mind ; that I had 
found my brother ! I felt sure of it. Memory did not assist me 
much, in making the discovery. It seemed to come upon me, as if 
by inspiration I 

It is true, I had something to guide me, in coming to this conclu 
sion. Sailor Bill had evidently, at some time or other, known a 

F erson by the name of Rowland. It at once entered my mind, that 
must be the individual of whom he had the distant recollection. 
My name,” said I, in answer to his question, “ is your own. Is 
not yours Stone ?” 

‘‘It is,” rejoined he, “William Stone.” 

“ Then we are brothers !” 

“ You are the Rolling Stone !” exclaimed Bill, grasping my 
hand. “ How strange that I did not ask the question, when I f rst 
heard you called Rowland !” 

The excitement caused by our mutual recognition, was of the 
most pleasurable character ; and, for some minutes after the first 
words, we both remained speechless. 

‘ The Elephant’ was nearly as mueh astonished as ourselves, at 
the discovery thus made. “ What a fool I’ve been,” said he, “ not 
%o have seen long ago that you were brothers. If ever there were 


336 


LOST LEKORE; 


two brothers, I could swear you two were the pair. I have been 
blind not to have told you before : what you have at last found 
out for yourselves.” 

We had no time to do more than exchange mutual congratulations, 
for the stage coach was about to start. I immediately paid for a 
seat ; and set off along with them for Geelong. At the moment I 
had along with me all the gold I had gathered. I had brought it 
out, for the purpose of taking it to the Escort office — as soon as I 
should bid adieu to my friends. There was nothing else of much 
importance to detain me in Ballarat; and I parted from the place 
at less than a moment’s notice. 

My brother and I found plenty of employment for our tongues, 
while making the journey to Melbourne. 

I asked him, if he had been aware of our mother’s having fol- 
lowed Mr. Leary to Australia. 

“ Yes,” said he, “ I knew, when she left me in Liverpool, that 
she was going to follow the brute out there ; and I concluded she 
had done so.” 

“ And have you never thought of trying to find her, while you 
were in Sydney 1” 

“ No,” said my brother, in a tone of solemnity, “ when she de 
serted me in Liverpool, to go after that wretch, I felt that I had lost 
a mother ; and it is my belief, that a mother once lost is never 
found again.” 

“ But did it not occur to you that you should have tried to find 
Martha? Do you intend leaving the colonies without making some 
effort to discover our sister ?” 

“ Poor little Martha !” exclaimed William, “ she was a dear 
little child. I would, indeed, like to see her again. Suppose we 
both try to find her ? I do not believe that if we discover her, we 
need have any fear of being ashamed of her. She was once a little 
angel ; and I am sure she will be a good girl, wherever she is. Oh! 
I should like to see Martha once more : but to tell the truth, Row- 
land, I do not care for ever seeing mother again !” 

I then informed my brother, that his wishes might yet be grati- 
fied ; and, as we continued our journey, I gave him a detailed his- 
tory of the affairs of the family — so far as 1 was myself acquainted 
with them. 

It was by no means an agreeable mode of transit, travelling by 
stage coach in the state the roads of Victoria were at the time ; yet 
that was the happiest day I had ever passed in the colony. Wil- 
liam and 1 kept up our conversation all day long. We had hardly 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 337 

a word for our companion, Olliphant; and we were under the 
necessity of apologising to him. 

“ Don’t mention it,” said the good-hearted Elephant. " I am as 
happy as either of you. You are two fellows of the right sort ; and 
I’m glad you have found each other.” 

On our arrival in Melbourne, we all went together to the Union 
Hotel. After engaging rooms, we proceeded to the purchase of 
some clothes — in order that we might make a respectable appear- 
ance in the streets of the city. My brother was in breathless haste 
to get himself rigged out ; and we knew his reason. He intended 
to spend the evening in the society of his future wife and her moth- 
er. At an early hour in the afternoon, he took leave of us. 

Olliphant and I were compelled to kill the time the best way we 
could ; but the trouble of doing so was not great : since there are 
but few cities of equal size with Melbourne where so much time and 
money are devoted to the purpose of amusement. 

Next day, 1 accepted an invitation from my brother, to accom- 
pany him on a visit to his sweetheart. She and her mother were 
living in a small house in Collingwood. When we arrived at the 
door, it was opened by a rather delicate lady-like woman, about 
forty ye^rs of age. She received my brother with a pleasant smile ; 
and I was introduced to Mrs. Morell. 

The young lady soon made her appearance, from an adjoining 
room ; and, after greeting my brother in a manner that gave n»e 
gratification to witness, 1 was introduced to her. 

Sarah Morell was, what might have been Called by any one, a 
pretty girl. She had not the beauty of my lost Lenore ; nor was 
she perhaps even as beautiful as my sister Martha ; but there was 
a sweet expression in her featnres, a charm in her smile, and a 
music in her gentle voice, that were all equally attractive ; and I 
could not help thinking, that my brother had made choice of a 
woman w'orthy of his honest and confiding love. 

She talked but little, during the interview — allowing most of the 
conversation to be carried on by her mother ; but, from the little 
she did say ; and the glance of her eyes — as she fixed them on the 
manly form of my brother — I could tell that he w^as beloved. 

By that glance, I could read pride and reverence for the man 
upon whom she had bestowed her heart; and that she felt for him 
that affection I once hoped to win from Lenore. 

How' superior was my brother’s fate to mine I He was beloved 
by the one he loved. He was in her presence ; and they were soon 
to be man and wife. He was happy — happy as youth can be, when 


338 


LOST lenore; 


blessed with hope, love, health and wealth. I was happy also ; but 
it consisted only in seeing others blessed with the happiness, which 
I was myself denied. 

After passing some hours in the cheerful companionship, of Mrs. 
and Miss Morell, my brother and I returned to our hotel — where 
we found ‘ The Elephant’ in a very unamiable mood. He had just 
ascertained, that he would have to stay three days longer in Mel- 
bourne ; as there was no steamer to start for Sidney before the third 
day from that time. 

After a council held between my brother and myself, it was re- 
solved that I should go on to Sydney with the Elephant ; and try 
to induce our sister Martha to accompany me back to Melbourne. 
The pleasure of meeting a long-lost brother, and of being present 
at his wedding, we hoped, would be sufficient inducement to cause 
her to change her resolution, and consent to live with relatives, who 
were only too anxious to support and protect her. 

Since William had been told of our mother’s death, he appeared 
to take much more interest in Martha’s welfare ; and urged upon 
me, not to come back to Melbourne, without bringing her along 
with me. We could not, he said, feel happy, returning to England 
and leaving our sister alone in the colonies. 

I promised to use every effort in the accomplishment of his 
wishes^ — which, of course, were but the echoes of my own. 

Miss Morell on hearing that her lover had a sister in Sydney, in- 
sisted on the marriage being postponed, till Martha should arrive.” 

“ I am willing to be married the very day your sister comes,” 
said she ; “ I shall wait with great impatience until I have seen her. 

It is hardly necessary to say, that these conditions redoubled 
William’s anxiety for the speedy arrival of our sister ; and, before 
taking leave of him, I was compelled to make a most emphatic 
promise of a speedy return. Olliphant, without knowing the 
object of my visit to Sydney, was gratified to hear that we were to 
continue our travelling companionship still further ; and in joyous 
spirits we stepped aboard the steamer bound to that place. 


CHAPTER LXXIX. 

A milliner’s yarn. 

The Melbourne steamer made the port of Sydney, at a late hour 
of the night. On landing, we proceeded direct to a hotel, where 
afW some difficulty, we obtained accommodation for the night. 


OR, THK ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 339 

In the morning, after eating our breakfast, which in Sydney is the 
most important meal of the day, my companion and 1 walked out 
into the streets. We soon parted company, each taking a different 
direction, since each had his own affairs to attend to. 

I proceeded direct to the house where I had left my sister, two 
years before. I was both surprised, and disappointed, at not find 
ing her there ; and perceiving that the house was no longer a mil- 
liner’s shop. 

I inquired for the people who formerly occupied the premises ; 
but could learn nothing of them. 

“ I am justly served,” thought I, “ I should have corresponded 
with my sister; and this disappointment could not have happened.” 

My relatives had been lost to me once. That should have been 
a warning. I should have taken precautions against a recurrence 
of this misfortune. Instead of doing so, I had led Martha to be- 
lieve, that I had gone back to England ; and during my absence 
had never written to her. I now perceived how foolishly I had 
acted ; and felt as if I deserved never to see my sister again. 

I should have been more deeply aggrieved by my conduct, but 
that I still entertained the hope of being able to find her. 

Sydney was not a large city ; and if my sister was still within 
Its limits, there was no reason why I should not discover her where- 
abouts — especially with the energy and perseverance I determined 
to make use of in the search. 

This search I lost no time in instituting. I turned into the next 
street — though rather mechanically than otherwise : for I was still 
undecided as to how I should act. 

All at once 1 remembered, that the woman, with whom Martha 
had gone into partnership, was a Mrs. Green. I remembered, too, 
hearing Mrs. Green say, that she had resided in Sydney for several 
years. Some one, therefore, should know her ; and, if she could be 
found, it was natural to infer, that I should hear of Martha. 

While sauntering along the street, into which I had entered, my 
eye fell upon a little shop ; which bore the sign of a milliner over 
the window. That should be the place for me to commence my in* 
quiries. I entered the shop ; where I saw standing behind a counter 
the worst-looking woman I had ever beheld. She was not ugly, 
from having a positively hideous face, or ill-formed features ; but 
rather from that spirit that gave expression to both. It was a com- 
bination of wicked passions — comprising self-esteem, insolence, ava- 
ric«, and everything that makes human nature despicable. The 
woman was dressed in a ^tyle seeming to say ; “ vanity for sale.^ 


340 


LOST LENORE ; 


I asked her, if she could give me any intelligence of a Mrs. Green ; 
who formerly kept a milliner’s shop in the next street. 

A disgusting grin suddenly spread over the features of the wo- 
man, as she promptly replied : “ Yes ; Mrs. Green was chased out 
of Sydney over a year ago. She thought to smash my business ; 
but she got smashed herself.” 

“ Can you tell me where she is to be found ?” I inquired. 

“ Yes. She saw it wasn’t no use to try to carry on business 
against me; and she’s hooked it to Melbourne.” 

“ There was a young woman with her named Martha Stone,” I 
continued, “ can you tell me where she is ?” 

Yes. She’s another beauty. I am not at all astonished at young 
men inquirin’ for her. Don’t think I am, mister. I’ve kept that 
lady from starving for the last six months ; and I’m about tired of 
it, I can tell you. This is a nice world we live in, sure enough. 
What might you be wantin’ with Miss Stone ?” 

“ I wish to know where she is to be found — nothing more,” I an- 
swered. 

“ Certainly. You wish to know where she is % Of course you 
do. Why not 1” said the disgusting creature, in a tone, and with a 
significant leer, that I have ever since been vainly endeavouring to 
forget. “ What right have you to think, that I should know where 
any such person lives ?” continued the woman. “ I wish you to un- 
derstand, sir, that I am a lady^ 

“I should certainly never have thought it, without being told; but 
not the less grateful for the information,” I answered : 

“ You say, that you know where Miss Stone is to be found. I 
am her brother, and wish to find her.” 

“ Oh ! that’s it, is it ?” retorted the woman with a look of evi- 
dent disappointment. Then, turning round, and forcing her neck 
someway up a narrow staircase, she screamed out : “ Susan ! 
Susan !” 

Soon after, a very young girl — apparently half-starved — made 
her appearance at the bottom of the stairs. 

“ Susan,” said the only woman I ever hated at first sight, “ tell 
this man, where Miss Stone lives.” 

There was something not so bad in the creature after all ; and I 
began to fancy, I had been wronging her. 

“ Please, sir,” said Susan, pointing with outstretched arms to- 
wards one of the sides of the shop, “ go up this street till you 
come to the baker’s shop ; then turn round this way, and go on till 
you pass the public- house witlLthe picture of the horse on it ; then 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 841 

turn that way, and go on till you come to where the house was 
burnt down ; cross the street there, and go on to the house where 
they sell lollies ; go by that, and at the turning beyond go this way 
until you come to the house with the green window blinds — ” 

“That will do,” I exclaimed. “ 1 don’t want to lose my senses, 
as well as my sister. Can you tell me, Susan, the name of the 
street, and the number of the house, in which Miss Stone resides.” 

“No, sir, thank you,” answered Susan. 

“ Can you go there — if this lady will give you leave?” 

“ Yes, sir, if you please,” said the girl, glancing timidly at her 
mistress. 

1 thought the mistress would refuse ; and even hoped she would. 
Anxious as I was to find my sister, I did not like to receive even so 
slight a favour from one whom I had hated with so little exertion. 

The woman, contrary to my expectations, consented to the child’s 
going out to show me the way ; and 1 am so uncharitable as to be- 
lieve, that her consent was given with the hope that, in finding my 
sister, I should meet with some chagrin ! 

I followed Susan through the streets, until we came to a dirty, 
wretched suburb of the city ; where the girl pointed out a house, 
and told me to knock at the door. 

Giving the poor little slavey half-a-crown, I sent her aw’ay ; and 
the next minute, my sister was sobbing in my arms. 

Everything in the room proclaimed her to be in the greatest pov- 
erty. Strange that I did not regret it ; but, on the contrary, was 
gratified by the appearance of her destitution ! It was proof that 
she was still virtuous and honest. Moreover, I fancied she would 
be more willing to accept the protection, I had come to offer her. 
She was under the impression, that 1 had just returned from Eng- 
land. When I undeceived her on this point, she seemed much 
grieved, that I had been sc^ong in the colonies, without letting her 
know it. 

I soon learnt from her the simple story of her life, since our last 
parting. At the time she had joined Mrs. Green in business, 
the latter was deeply in debt ; and, in about three months after, 
all the stock in the little shop was sold off to meet Mrs. Green’s 
liabilities. Their business was broken up ; and Mrs. Green had 
gone to Melbourne — as her rival had stated. Martha had obtained 
employment in two or three milliner’s establishments in the city ; 
and, she blushingly told me, had good reasons for leaving them all. 

She was now making a sort of livelihood, by working for anyone 
who chanced to have sewing to give her ; and was obtaining oc- 


$42 


LOST lbnorb; 


casional, but ill paid employ m#^nt, from the lady who had assisted 
me in finding her. 

“ Oh. Rowland !’' said Mai'ina, “ that woman is the worst that 
ever lived. She never lets me have a piece of sewing, at a price 
that will allow me more than bread and water, and yet I have been 
obliged to take it from her, because I caiinot get enough sewing else- 
where. I often work from six o’clock in the morning till ten at 
night— when I can get anything to do ; and yet I’ve often been very, 
very hungry. I’m sure it is as bad here, as the stories I’ve heard 
about poor sempstresses in London. Ah, brother ! People seem 
only to care for those who are bad ; and while they have everything 
they wish, girls like me must live as you see I’ve been doing. Oh, 
Rowland ! is it not a cruel world 1” 

I was much gratified at hearing my sister talk in this manner : for 
each word was evidence, that she had been leading an honourable 
life ; and, moreover, her despondency led me to believe : that she 
would no longer oppose my projects as she had previously done. 

It was all for the best, that she had not done as I wished two 
years before. Had she then consented to returning with me to En- 
gland, 1 should have gone thither — notwithstanding my disappoint- 
ment about Lenore. By doing so, 1 should have missed meeting 
my brother — besides I should have lost the opportunity of making 
above fifteen hundred pounds — which I had gathered on the gold 
&Ids of Victoria. 


CHAPTER LXXX. 

MY SISTER STILL OBSTINATE. 

I HAD been some little time in my sister’s company, before tell- 
ing her of my intentions regarding 'her. I had allowed her to in- 
dulge in such conjectures ab^out my designs, as the circumstances 
might suggest. 

“ I am very glad, Rowland,” said she, that you have made up 
your mind to stay in the colonies. I hope you will live in Sydney. 
Oh ! we would be so happy ! You have come to stay here, have 
you not ? Say yes, brother ; and make me happy ! Say you will 
not leave me any more ?” 

“ I do not wish to leave 'yt)u, dear sister,” said I ; “ and I hope 
that you have now learnt a lesson, that will make you willing to ac- 
cept the offer I am going to make you. I have come, Martha, to 
take you with me to Melbourne.” 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLUNO STONE. 


S43 


*• What reason can you have, for wishing me to go to Melbourne ? 
It cannot be a better place than Sydney 

“ Are you still unwilling to leave Sydney 1” I asked, with a pain* 
fill presentiment that 1 was once more to be baulked in my design of 
making my poor sister happy. 

“ Brother,” she replied, “ 1 am not willing to go to Melbourne 
i don’t wish to leave Sydney — at least, not yet.” 

“ Would you not like to see your brother William 1” I asked. 

“What! William I dear little Willie! Have you heard of 
him, Rowland ? Do you know where he is ?” 

“ Yes. He is in Melbourne ; and very anxious to see you. I 
have come to take you to him. Will you go?” 

“ I must see William — my long-lost brother William! 1 must 
see him. How came you to find him, Rowland? Tell me all 
about it. Why did he not come here along with you ?” 

“We met by mere chance — on the diggings of Victoria; and 
hearing me called Rowland, he asked my other name. We then 
recognised one another. Little Willie, as you call him, is now 
a tall, fine-looking young man. Next week he is going to be mar- 
ried to ^ beautiful girl. I have come to take you to the wedding. 
Will you go, Martha ?” 

“ I don’t know. 1 must see brother William. What shall I do. 
J cannot leave Sydney.” 

“ Martha,” said I, “ I am your brother ; and am willing to assist 
you in any manner possible. I am older than you ; and we have 
no parents. 1 have the right to some authority over you ; and now 
demand the reason, why you are not willing to go with me to Mel- 
bourne ?” 

My sister remained silent. 

“ Give m§ a straightforward answer,” I cried in a tone that par- 
took of command. “Tell me why you will not go ?” 

“ Oh, brother ! because I am waiting here for some one — one who 
has promised — to return to me.” 

“ A man, of course ?” 

“ Yes, yes — a man~a true man, Rowland.” 

“ Where is he gone ; and how long is it since you have seen 
him?” I saked, unable to conceal my indignant sorrow. 

“ He went to the diggings in Victoria, a little more than two 
years ago. Before going, he told me to wait, until he should come 
back : then he would marry me.” 

“ Martha ! is it possible that this is your only reason for not go* 
mg with me?” 


344 


LOST LENORE ; 


« It is — my only one — I cannot go. I must wait for him 

“ Then you are as foolish, as our poor mother was in waiting for 
Mr. Leary. The man who promised to return and marry you, has 
probably forgotten both his promise and you, long before this. 
Very likely he has married some other. I thought you had more 
sense, than to believe every idle word spoken by idle tongues. The 
man for whom you are making yourself miserable, would laugh at 
your simplicity, if he only knew of it. He has probably forgotten 
your name. Cease to think of him, dear sister ; and make both your- 
self, and your brothers happy !” 

“ Do not call me a fool, Rowland — do not think me one ! I know 
I should be, if I was waiting for any common man ; but the one 1 
love is not a common man. He promised to return ; and unless he 
dies, I am sure he will keep his word. I know it would be folly to 
have trusted most men as I’ve done him ; but he’s not like others. 

I shall yet be happy. To wait for him is but my duty ; do not 
urge me to neglect it.” 

“ Oh, Martha ! our poor mother thought about Mr. Leary, just 
as you do about this man. She thought him true to her — the best 
husband in the world ! You may be as much mistaken as she was. 
I advise you to think no more of him, but go with me. Look 
around you! See the wretched state in which you are living! 
Leave it for a happy home, with those who will truly love you.” 

“ Do not talk to me so, Rowland, or you will drive me mad. I 
wish to go with you, and wish to see William; but 1 cannot, and 
must not leave Sydney !” 

It was evident to me, that my sister was afflicted with the same 
delusion, that had enslaved our mother even unto death ; and, with 
much regret, I became conscious of the folly of trying to induce 
her to act in a rational manner. I saw that common sense, reason, 
persuasion, or threats, would all be alike unavailing to obtain com- 
pliance with my wishes. The little 1 had seen of her sex, had im- 
pressed me with the belief: that no woman ever exhibited such 
blind faith and full confidence in a man worthy of the least regard; 
and 1 was willing to stake my existence, that my sisters lover was 
a fellow of no principle — some low blackguard of a similar stamp 
to the late Mr. Leary. I could not suppose him to be quite so bad 
as Leary : for that to me would have appeared impossible. 

I was greatly chagrined to think my kind intentions towards 
Martha should be thwarted by her folly. I was even angry. Per 
haps it was unmanly in me to do so. My sister was unfortunate. 
She was more an object for pity than anger ; but I was angry, and 


345 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 

and could not restrain myself from showing it. Conscious of my 
upright and disinterested regard for her, 1 could not help thinking 
it ungrateful of her, thus to oppose my designs for her welfare. 

“ Martha,” said I, “ I ask you once more to go w ith me. By 
doing so, you will fulfil a sister’s duty as well as seek your own 
welfare. Reject my offer now, and it will never be made again *. 
for we shall part forever. I will leave you to the misery, you seem 
not only to desire, but deserve.” 

“ Rowland ! Rowland !” exclaimed she, throwing her arms' around 
my neck, “ I cannot part from you thus. Do not leave me. You 
must not — you must not !” 

‘‘Will you go with me'?” I asked, too much excited to listen pa- 
tiently to her entreaties. 

•‘ Rowland, do not ask me ! May heaven help me ; I cannot 
go !” 

“ Then, farewell !” I cried, “ farewell for ever !” and as I uttered 
the parting speech, I tore myself from her embrace, and hurried 
half frantic out of the room. 


CHAPTER LXXXl. 

MY sister’s sweetheart. 

On leaving the house, my soul was stirred by conflicting emotions. 
I was wild with disappointment, sorrow and indignation. 

It was wrong to part with my poor sister in such fashion ; and 
my conscience told me so, before I had proceeded two hundred 
yards along the street. I should at least have given her some 
money, to relieve her from the extreme necessity which she was 
evidently in. 

A moment’s reflection, as I stopped in the street, told me it was 
my duty to do this, if nothing more. 

I thought of sending her a few pounds after getting back to the 
hotel. Then succeeded the reflection, that to do so would be more 
trouble, than to turn back, and to give it to her myself. This 
thought decided me to return to the house, and see her once more. 
I retraced my steps ; and again knocked at the door. 

For some moments there was no answer; and I knocked again. I 
waited for nearly two minutes ; and still there was no signs of my 
summons being answered. 

1 was oa the point of bursting in the door, when it was opened 


346 


LUST LENORE ; 


by a man, whose huge frame almost filled the entrance from jamb 
to jamb. It was the Elephant ! The truth instantly flashed upon 
my mind. It was for him my sister had been waiting ! She was 
the sempstress for whom he had been toiling — the young girl 
spoken of in his story — she, whom he had said, he was going to 
return and marry ! 

Martha had flung herself into a chair ; and appeared insensible. 

I cannot remember that either Olliphant or I spoke on seeing one 
another. Each was too much surprised at meeting the other. And 
yet neither of us thought there was anything strange in the circum- 
stance. Let those, who can, explain the singularity of our senti- 
ments at that encounter. 1 cannot, and therefore shall not make 
the attempt. The attention of both of us was soon called to Mar- 
tha, who had recovered consciousness. 

“ I thank God !” she cried out addressing me, “ I thank God, 
Rowland, you have returned. You see, he has come back !” she 
continued, placing her hand on the broad shoulder of ‘ the Elephant.’ 
“ I knew he would. I told you he was certain to come ; and that it 
was not possible for him to deceive me. This is my brother, Alex,’* 
she added, turning to Olliphant. “ He wanted me to leave you ; 
but don’t blame him : for he did not know you, as I did. I’ve seen 
hard times, Alex ; but the joy of this moment more than repays 
me for all.” 

It was some time before Olliphant and I had an opportunity of 
communicating with each other: for Martha seemed determined 
that no one should have anything to say but herself. 

“ What fools we have been !” exclaimed Olliphant, as soon as 
his sweetheart gave him a chance of speaking. “ Had you told me 
that your name was Stone, and that you had a sister in Sydney, 
how much more pleasure we should have had in one another’s so- 
ciety ! You have nearly missed finding your brother ; and either 
you or I have nearly lost your sister by keeping your name a secret. 
I know that for a man to talk to others of his family affairs is not 
strict etiquette ; but the rules of that are often made by those who 
are only respected because they are unknown ; or rather, because 
nothing concerning them can be told to their credit.” 

“ You and I have been friends,” continued the Eliphant, still ad- 
dressing his discourse to me. “ Why should we have cared for 
etiquette? We ought to have acted independently of its require- 
ments. Depend upon it, that open-hearted candour is ever pre- 
ferable to secrecy.” 

I assured Olliphant, that I was convinced of the truth of this doo* 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 847 

trine by late events ; and that it was also my belief, an honest man 
has very little on his mind that need be concealed from his acquaint- 
ances. 

The scene that followed was one of unalloyed happiness. It 
ended in the determination — that we should all three at once pro- 
ceed to Melbourne; and that Olliphant and Martha should be mar- 
ried at the same time that my brother was to be united to Miss 
Morell. 

It was ludicrous to witness the change, that had suddenly tal^c-n 
place in the sentiments of Martha. She no longer offered the 
slightest objection to leaving Sydney ; but on the contrary, declared 
herself delighted at the prospect of going to Melbourne — a place 
she said, she had been 1< )ng desirous of seeing. 

During the evening, the little slavey, Sarah, came over from the 
tnilliner’s shop, with a bundle of sewing materials, which Martha 
was required to make up immediately. 

“ Tell your mistress,'’ said Martha, “ that I cannot afford to do any 
more work for her ; for she does not pay me enough for it. Tell 
her, that I hope she will not be much disappointed ; but that I can- 
not sew any more for her. Will you tell her thatl” 

“Yes, thank you!” said Sarah, “but 1 don’t think she’ll be 
much disappointed : for she said she did not think you would do 
any more work now ; and she sent it to see.” 

We had enough to talk about that evening. Olliphant had been 
acquainted with our poor mother ; and expressed much regret that 
she died so unhappily. 

We all had explanations to make ; and Olliphant and I listened 
with equal interest to a long recital of my sister’s struggle to main- 
tain herself, and to an explanation of her sorrow at being unable 
to comply with my request, when I had begged her to leave Sydney. 

This confession was as pleasant to me as to the Elephant ; but 
perhaps still pleasanter was it for him to hear: that, during his 
iiong absence, she had never felt a doubt about his returning, and 
that such a suspicion had never remained for an instant in her mind. 

As events hii turned out, I could not regret that my sister had 
been, what 1 had too rashly termed, foolish; and that her faith in 
Olliphant’s promise had remained unshaken under such strong 
temptations, as those to which she had been subjected. 

She had proved herself worthy of a good husband ; and there 
was no one, whom I should have preferred seeing her united to, be- 
fore the man, for whom she had so long and patiently waited. 


348 


LOST LENORK ! 


CHAPTER LXXXIL 

AT SEA. 

On the third day after my arrival at Sydney, I started back for MeL 
bourne, in the steamer ‘‘Warratah;” accompanied by Olliphant 
and Martha. 

On arriving at Melbourne, my sister was taken to the residence 
of Mrs. Morrel ; where she had the pleasure of meeting her brother 
William ; and making the acquaintance of her future sister-in-law. 

Sarah Morrel and Martha became friends upon sight ; and on the 
evening of our return, a more happy party, than the one assembled 
in Mrs. Morell’s cottage could not have been found in the colony. 

At intervals, a thought of my own life-long disappointment 
would flash across my mind ; but the sight of so many happy faces 
around me, would soon restore me to a feeling of tranquil content- 
ment. 

Next day, preparations were made for the double marriage ; 
which took place shortly after. 

The occasion was not marked by any ceremonial display — such 
as 1 have often witnessed at the “ weddings” of lucky gold diggers. 
All the arrangements were conducted with the same sense of pro- 
priety of taste, that appeared to have guided the previous conduct 
of the principal parties concerned. 

My brother’s honeymoon tour, was to be a voyage in the first 
ship that should sail for England. As I did not like the idea of 
separating from him so soon ; and, having no great desire to return 
to the diggings, I resolved to accompany him. 

Olliphant and Martha only remained in Melbourne, until they 
should see us off : when they intended returning to Sydney to reside 
permanently in that city. The Elephant had gathered gold enough 
to set him up in some respectable business ; and it was but natural 
he should prefer New South Wales — his native country — to any 
other. I knew that to my sister, all places were now alike: so long 
as she should be with her husband. 

I do not much like travelling in a ship, where there is a large 
number of passengers. It is something like going out for a walk, 
along a street crowded with people. When there are many passen- 
gers in a vessel, there are likely to be some of a very disagreeable 
disposition, that will be sure to make itself manifest during the 
voyage. Moreover in a crowded ship, the regulations require to be 
more rigidly enforced — thus rendering the passage more irksome to 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 349 

all. There is much greater freedom of action, and generally more 
amusement, on board a ship carrying only a limited number of pas- 
sengers. For this reason, we took passage in the first cabin of a 
small vessel — where we knew there would be only about twenty 
others beside ourselves. 

The ship was bound direct for the port of London ; the captain, 
whose name was Nowell, was to all appearance a gentleman ; the 
accommodation, as regarded room and other necessary require- 
ments, was satisfactory ; and we set sail with every prospect of a 
pleasant voyage. 

As Captain Nowell was a man of sociable inclinings, he soon be- 
came a favourite with all his passengers. Between him and myself 
an intimacy arose ; and I passed much of my time in his company, 
either at chess, or in talking about subjects connected with his call- 
ing, which 1 had not altogether forgotten. He appeared to take an 
interest in my future welfare ; so much so, as frequently to con- 
verse with me on the subject of getting married. 

“ Lucky gold diggers,” said he, “ often go home in my ship in 
search of a wife ; and not unfrequently get cheated in the quality 
of the article. As 1 have some experience in matrimonial matters, 
you can’t do better than let me choose a wife for you. Besides,” 
he continued, “ 1 have a young lady in view, that I think would 
just suit you. 1 have long been in search of a good husband fitr 
her ; but have not yet met with a man, to whom I should think of 
confiding her happiness. From what I have seen of you, Mr, 
Stone, I fancy I could trust her to your keeping.” 

Though perfectly indifferent about the captain’s protegee, I could 
not help acknowledging the compliment. 

I only ask of you,” he continued, “ to make no rash engage- 
ments, after you arrive in England. Do nothing in that line until 
you have seen the girl ; and then if you don’t like her, there is no 
harm done.” 

I thanked the captain for his offer ; and sighed as I thought of the 
cruel fate^ that had placed an impassible barrier between me and 
Lenore. 

There is one thing in my narrative, that may appear remarkable 
to the reader — perhaps scarce truthful ; and that is, the facility with 
which I made so many triends. An explanation of this may not 
be out of place. 

I was always in earnest in what little I had to say. No one 
could converse long with me without discovering I was sincere m 
what t said. I do not claim this as a trait of character peculiar \o 


350 


LOST LEKORE ; 


myself ; but I do affirm — as far as my experience has instructed me 
■ — that it is not so with the majority of mankind. Language is too 
often used as the means for concealing thoughts — instead of expres- 
sing them. 

Thousands of people say what they do not mean ; and sometimes 
gain friends by it. But it is a friendship as false as it is fleeting ; and 
often confers on him who obtains it, more disappointment and trouble, 
than he would be likely to have with avowed enemies. 

Nothing transpired during our home voyage, worthy of particu- 
lar notice. After passing some small islands, that lie near the coast 
of Port Phillip, we never sighted land again for three months. 

On the ninety-second day of our voyage, the cheering cry or 
“ Land ho !” resounded through the ship ; and hastening on deck, 
we looked upon the white cliffs of Dover. 

Great was the joy of Mrs. Morell and her daughter, at once more 
beholding their native shores ; and I could envy my brother ; who 
had contributed so much to the happiness of others, and at the same 
time so successfully established his own. 

We landed at Portsmouth ; and proceeded to London by rail. 
Before parting with Captain Nowell — who had to remain a few 
days with his ship — I promised to visit him in Ji»s London house — 
the address of which he had already made known to me. 

A few hours after, I entered, for the first time within the limits 
of the world’s metropolis. 


CHAPTER LXXXIII. 

LIFE IN LONDON. 

After staying one night at a hotel, we went into private lodgings 
at Brompton. 

For several days after our arrival, my brother was employed in 
the pleasant duty of escorting his wife and moth(^r-in-law — on a 
round of visits to their numerous old acquaintances ; while I was 
left to wander alone through the streets of the stupendous city. 1 
had anticipated some little pleasure in visiting the far famed me- 
tropolis ; but in this I was disappointed ; and soon began to feel re- 
gret for having left behind me the free life I had been pursuing on 
the gold fields. 

I had some business, however, to transact, even in London. The 
gold I had obtained in California — along with that bequeathed to mo 
by poor old Stormy Jack — had been forwarded to the Bank of 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 351 

England ; and about a week after my arrival, I went down to the 
city, to draw out the money deposit that was due to me. On pre- 
senting myself to the cashier, I was told that it would be necessary 
for me to bring some responsible person, to say that my name was 
Rowland Stone. This individual must be known to the authorities 
cf the Bank. 

This requirement placed me in a little dilemma. Where was I 
to find a sponsor? I was a perfect stranger in London. So were 
my travelling companions. I knew not a soul belonging to the great 
city — much less one who should be known to the magnates of the 
Bank. 

To whom should I apply ? 

When I had mentally repeated this question, for the twentieth 
time, I bethought me of Captain Nowell. He should be the very 
man. 

I at once hailed a cab ; and drove to the address he had given me. 
Fortunately he had arrived from Portsmouth; and was at home. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, he accompanied me to the 
Bank ; where everything was satisfactorily arranged. Instead of 
drawing out the deposit, I added to it, by paying in an additional 
sum — consisting of the gold I had gathered in Australia. My only 
object in troubling myself about it at the time, was to moke sure 
that the gold I had forwarded from California had arrived safely, 
and was otherwise “ all right.” 

Before parting with Captain Nowell, he requested to know why I 
had not gone to his house to see him sooner. 

“ Your coming to-day,” he said, “ was not a visit ; and I shan’t 
take it as such. You only came to trouble me on business for 
which you needed me, or probably I should not have seen you at all. 
You must pay me a regular visit. Come to-morrow ; or any time 
that best suits your convenience. You know my style at sea? 
You’ll find me just the same ashore. Don’t forget that I’ve some- 
thing to show you — something you had better have a look at, be- 
fore you choose elsewhere.” 

I gave the kind-hearted Captain my promise to call upon him — 
though not from any inclination to be assisted by him in the way 
he seemed to wish. The finding a wife was a thing that was far — 
very far from my thoughts. 

Several days had elapsed after my interview with Captain Now- 
ell; and each day I was becoming more discontented, with the life 
I was leading in London. My brother, his wife, and Mrs. Morell, 
were very kind to me ; and strove to make me as happy as possi 


52 


LOST LENORB ; 


ble. But much of their time was taken up in paying visits, or spent 
in amusements, in which I could feel no interest. 1 soon found that 
to be contented, it would be necessary for me, either to take an ac- 
tive part in the busy scenes of life, or be in possession of great do- 
mestic happiness. The latter I could never expect to attain ; and 
London appeared to present no employment so well suited to my 
disposition and habits, as that I had followed upon the gold-fields. 

I might have passed some of my time very pleasantly in the 
company of Captain Nowell ; but I was prevented from availing 
myself of that pleasure — even of paying my promised visit to him — 
by the very thing that might otherwise have attracted me. I had 
no desire to form the acquaintance of the young lady he had spoken 
of ; and for me to call at his house might give occasion for him, as 
well as others, to think differently. 

I admit that 1 may have been over-scrupulous in this matter; 
since Captain Nowell and I had become fast, and intimate friends. 
But from what he had already said, I could not visit the young lady 
and remain indifferent to her ; without the conclusion being come 
to ; that I thought her unworthy of my regard, and that, after see- ^ 
ing, I had formed an unfavourable opinion of her. It may have j 
been silliness on my part : allowing such a thought to prevent my a 
visiting a friend ; but, as 1 had not come to London wife-hunting, I I 
did not desire others to think that I had. To me, matrimony was j 
no more a pleasant subject for contemplation — especially when it * 
referred' to myself — and the few words spoken to me by the cap- j 
tain on that theme, had been sufficient to defeat the only object he J 
probably had any particular wish to attain : that I should call upon | 
him and partake of his hospitality. ] 

About a month after our arrival in London, I inquired at the Gen- ! 
eral Post Office for letters from Australia ; and had the pleasure of ; 
receiving two. One was from Oliphant; the other from my sister. - 
Martha’s was a true woman’s letter ; that could be read once by 
Uie recipient, and then easily forgotten. It was full of kind words 1 
for all of us in London ; but the only information to be obtained ' 
from it was, that she thought well of everybody, and was herself 
ejceedingly happy. 

Perhaps I was more gratified with the contents of Oliphant’s let- 
ter; from which I select the following extract:— 

On our return to Sydney, I learnt that my father had just got 
6i,v3k from a visit to England — which he had long before determined 
on making. I was very anxious to see him, in the hope that we 


OR, THK ADVXKTORES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


53 


might become friends again ; but, knowing that the first advances 
towards a reconciliation must come from himself, I would not go to 
him. I could not think of acknowledging myself sorry, for having 
done that which I knew to be right. The only step I could make, 
towards the accomplishments of my wishes, was to put myself in 
communication with a mutual friend ; and let him know that I had 
.returned to Sydney. 1 did not omit to add, that I had returned 
from the diggings with a full purse : for I knew that this would also 
be communicated to my father, and might have some effect upon 
him of a favourable character. 

“ It appeared as if I had not been mistaken. Three days after, 
the governor called at the hotel where I was staying ,• and met me 
as a father should meet a son, whom he has not seen for more than 
three years. I was no little surprised at the turn things had taken ; 
for, knowing the old gentleman’s obstinate disposition, I did not ex- 
pect a settlement so prompt, or satisfactory. I presumed it would 
take some time and trouble, to get on good terms with him again. 

“ He seemed greatly pleased with Martha’s appearance ; and they 
became fast friends at once. 

“ ‘ I like the look of you’ said he to her, ‘ and am willing to be- 
lieve that you are worthy of Alex ; and that is saying a good deal for 
you. Ah, my son,’ continued he, addressing himself to me, ‘had 
you brought home your London cousin for a wife — as I commanded 
you to do — 1 should certainly have horsewhipped you on your re- 
turn. When I came to see her in London, I soon changed my mind 
about her. She is nothing but an ugly silly fool ; and too conceited 
to know it. 1 admire your spirit for disobeying orders, and marry- 
ing a girl, whom I am not ashamed to acknowledge as my daughter. 

“We shall leave town to-morrow for my father’s station; and 
the only thing we require now to make us perfectly happy, is the 
company of yourself, William and his wife. 1 hope that after you 
have tried the ‘ Old Country’ for a few weeks, you will believe, as 
do, that it is only a place for flunkeys and snobs ; and every 
young man of enterprise and energy should come out here, where 
life can be spent to some purpose — worthy of the toil that all ought 
to endure. I shall expect to see you in Sydney within the next 
year.” 

There was a strong suspicion in my mind, that “ The Elephant’* 
was right, in believing I would soon return to the colonies. Why 
should I remain in London ? I could do nothing there. It was 
different with my brother. He might now be happy anywhere. He 
only wanted a spot, where he might tranquilly await his final do 


54 LOST LENORE ; 

parture from the world, while I was a Rolling Stone that must roll 
on — or be miserable. 

The more consideration I gave to the circumstance, the more de- 
termined did I become to part from London : and go to some land, 
where youth and health were worth possessing. J could feel that 
the blessings. Nature had bestowed on me were not worth much in 
London ; where men are enslaved by customs and laws that sub- 
ject the million to the dominion of the few. I determined, there- 
fore, on going, where I should be regarded as the equal of those 
around me ; where there was room for me to move, without the 
danger of being crushed by a crowd of self-sufficient creatures — 
most of whom were in reality more insignificant than myself. I 
should join “The Elephant” in New South Wales; and perhaps 
become a man of some influence in a land where the sun is to be 
seen every day. 

I at this time regretted, that 1 had ever been a Rolling Stone. I 
believed that a man may be happier who has never wandered from 
home to learn the lessons of discontent, and become the slave of 
desires, that in one place can never be gratified. Each spot of 
earth has its peculiar advantages, and is in some respects superior 
to all others. By wandering in many lands, and partaking of their 
respective pleasures, we become imbued with many desires to which 
we look back with regret when they can no longer be gratified. 
After residing in a tropical climate, who can encounter the chilling 
blasts of a northern winter, without longing 

“ For green verandahs hung with flowers. 

For marble founts, and orange bowers ?*’ 

And when nearly cooked by the scorching sun — when tortured at 
every turn by reptiles, and maddened by the worry of winged in- 
sects — we sigh for the bracing breezes of a northern clime, and the 
social joys of the homes which are there found — a happiness such 
as my brother might now be permitted to enjoy, but which was for 
ever denied to me ! 

With such reflections constantly passing through my mind, I felt 
that London, large as it was, could not contain me much longer ; 
and I only waited, until some slight turning of Fortune’s wheel 
would bestir me to make a fresh start for the Antipodes. 


OE, THE ADVBNTtTRES OB A ROLLING STONE. 355 

CHAPTER LXXXIV. 

OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 

One day, while riding inside a “ bus” along the Strand, and gazing 
out through the slides, I amused myself by looking at the “ fares” 
seated upon the “ knife-board,” or rather their images, reflected in 
the plate-glass windows of the shops in front of which we were 
passing. 

While thus engaged, my attention became more especially fixed 
upon one of my fellow passengers so reflected ; and, on continuing 
my second-hand scrutiny, I became convinced that an old acquaint- 
ance was directly o'-'^er my head. I requested the conductor to stop 
the “ bus ;” and, upon his doing so, I got out, and climbed to the 
top of it. On raising my eyes to a level with the roof, I saw that 
I had not been mistaken. Cannon, whom I had last seen in Mel- 
bourne, was one of the row of individuals that occupied the knife- 
board. 

We got off the “ bus” at Charing Cross ; stepped into Morley’s 
Hotel ; and ordered “ dinner for two.” 

“ Cannon,” said I, “ how came you to be here ? I left you in 
Melbourne, without any money. How did you manage to get 
home 1” 

“Well,” replied Cannon, with a peculiar grin, “it’s easily ex- 
plained. My well-wishing friends here sent me a little money ; which 
came to hand, shortly after I saw you. I knew why they did it. They 
were afraid, that I might get hard up out there, and someway or 
other find my way home. They weren’t so cunning as they 
thought themselves. On receiving their cheque, I did with it, just 
what they didn’t intend I should do. I paid my passage home with 
the money, for fear I mightn’t have the chance a^in ; and I’ll take 
precious good care, they don’t send me out of England a second 
time — not if I can help it.” 

“ What has become of Vane ?” I asked. 

“Vane ! the d — d insidious viper! I don’t like to say anything 
about him. He had some money left him here ; and got back to 
England, before I did. He’s here now.” 

“ And how are our friends up the Yarra Yarra. Have you heard 
anything of them, since we were there together ?” 

“ Yes ; and seen them, too — several times. They were well the 
last time I saw them. I mean well in bodily health ; but I think a 
little wrong in the mind. They became great friends with that fel- 
low Vane.” 


356 


LOST LBNORE 1 


I noticed that Cannon, although he had said that he did not like to 
say anything about Vane, kept continually alluding to him during 
the .two or three hours that we were together; and always spoke 
of him with some show of animosity. 

I could see that the two men were friends no longer. I was not 
inquisitive as to the cause of their misunderstanding — probably for 
the reason, that I took very little interest in the affairs of either. 

“Are you in any business here?” asked Cannon, when we w(.re 
about to separate. 

“ No,” I replied, “ I don’t desire to go into business in London ; 
and, as I can find but little to*amuse me, I am thinking of returning 
to Australia.” 

“ Ah ! that’s strange,” rejoined Cannon. “ Perhaps the reason 
why you are not amused, is because you are a stranger here, and 
have but little society. Come along with me, and I will introduce 
you to some of my friends ; who can show you some London life. 
Will you promise to meet me here to-morrow at half-past tel 
o’clock 

I did not like giving the promise; but Cannon would take no de 
nial ; and, having nothing else to do, I agreed to meet him, at thr. 
time and place he had mentioned. After that we shook hands anA 
parted. 

Though not particularly caring about either of them, I liked Vane 
less than I did Cannon. I was not at all surprised, to find that 
disagreement had sprung up between them. In fact, I would rathe 
have felt surprised, to hear that they had remained so long in each 
other’s society without having had a quarrel. Cannon, with all hi 
faults, had some good qualities about him, enough to have rendered 
him unsuitable as a “ chum” for the other; and I had anticipated, 
speedy termination of their friendship. I knew that Vane mu? 
have done something very displeasing to Cannon ; else the otho 
would scarce have made use of such strong expressions, whil 
speaking of his old associate. Cannon, when not excited by pas 
sion, was rather guarded in his language ; and rarely expressed hi 
opinions in a rash or inconsiderate manner. 

Next morning, I met him according to appointment; and w 
drove to a cottage in St. John’s Wood — where he proposed intri 
ducing me to some of his English acquaintances. We were coi, 
ducted into a parlour ; and the servant was requested to announce 
“ Mr. Cannon and friend.” 

The door was soon after opened ; and Jessie H stood befor,. 

me. 

On seeing me, she did not speak ; but dropped down into a sofa ; 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 857 

and for some time seemed unconscious that there was anyone in the 
room. 

It was cruel of Cannon thus to bring us together ; and yet he did 
not appear to be the least punished, although present at a scene that 
was painful to both of us. On the contrary, he seemed rather 
pleased at the emotion called forth upon the occasion. 

Jessie soon recovered command of herself; but I could easily 
perceive, that her tranquil demeanour was artificial and assumed — 
altogether unlike her natural bearing, when I knew her on the banks 
of the Yarra Yarra 

Cannon strove hard to keep alive a conversation ; but the task of 
doing so was left altogether to himself. I could give him but lit- 
tle help ; and from J essie he received no assistance whatever. The 
painful interview was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. H— — 
whose deportment towards us, seemed even more altered than that 
of his daughter. 

I could easily perceive, that he did not regard either Cannon, or 
myself, with any feeling of cordiality. 

We were soon after joined by Mrs. H ; who met us in a 

more friendly manner than her husband ; and yet she, too, seemed 
acting under some restraint. 

While Cannon engaged the attention of Mr. and Mrs. H , I 

hadafew words with Jessie. 

She requested me to call and see them again ; but, not liking the 
manner in which her father had received me, 1 declined making a 
promise. To my surprise — and a little to my regret — she insisted 
upon it ; and appointed the next morning at eleven o’clock^ — when 
she and her mother would be alone. 

“ I am very unhappy, Rowland,” muttered she, in an undertone. 
“I seldom see anyone whom I care for. Do come, and see us to- 
morrow. Will you promise 1” 

I could not be so rude — might 1 say cruel — as to refuse. 

Our stay was not prolonged. Before we came away, Mrs. H 

also invited us to call again; but I noticed that this invitation, when 
given, was not intended to be heard by her husband. 

“ Little Rosa is at school,” said she, “ and you must come and 
see her. She is always talking of you. When she hears that you 
are in London she will be wild to see you.’ 

After my departure, my companion, who already knew my ad- 
dress, gave me his : and we separated, under a mutual agreement to 

meet soon again. . i r u 

There was much, in what had lust transpired, that 1 could not 

comprehend. 


858 


LOST LENORK ; 


Why had Gannon not told me that Mr. H and his family 

were in London, before taking me to see them ? Why had he pre- 
tended that he was going to introduce me to some of his London 
friends ? I could answer these questions only by supposing, that 
he believed 1 would not have accompanied him, had I known on 
whom we were about to call. 

He might well have believed this — remembering the unceremo- 
nious manner in which I had parted from his friends, at the time 
we visited them on the Yarra Yarra. But why should he wish me 
to visit them again — if he thought that I had no desire to do so ? 

This was a question for which I could find no reasonable answer. 

I felt certain he must have acted from some motive ; but what it 
was, I could not surmise. Perhaps I should learn something about 
it next day, during the visit I had promised to make to Jessie. She 
was artless and confiding : so much so, that I felt certain she would 
tell me all that had taken place, since the painfull parting on the 
banks of the Yarra Yarra. 

Long after leaving the house in St. John’s Wood, I found occupa- 
tion for my thoughts. I was the victim of reflections, both varied 
and vexatious. 

By causing us to come together again. Fate seemed to intend the 
infliction of a curse, and not the bestowal of a blessing ! 

I asked myself many questions. Would a further acquaintance 
with Jessie subdue within my soul the memories of Lenore ? Did 
I wish that such should be the case? 

Over these questions I pondered long, and painfully — only to find 
them unanswered. 

J essie H was beautiful beyond a doubt. There was a charm 

in her beauty that might have won many a heart ; and mine had 
not been indifferent to it. There was music in her voice — as it 
gave utterance to the thoughts of her pure, artless mind to which I 
liked to listen. And yet there was something in my remembrance 
of Lenore — who had never loved me, and who could never be mine 
— sweeter and more enchanting than the music of Jessie’s voice, or 
the beauty of her person ! 

CHAPTER LXXXV. 

Jessie’s suitor. 

1 

Next moning I repeated my visit to St. John’s Wood. I again ] 
saw Jessie. She expressed herself much pleased to see me; "but j 
upon her features was an expression that pained me to behold 1 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 359 

That face, once bright and joyous, and still beautiful, gave eridenoe 
that some secret sorrow was weighing upon her heart. 

‘‘ I know not whether I ought to be glad, or grieved, Rowland,” 
said she. “ I am certainly pleased to see you. Nothing could give 
me greater joy ; and yet 1 know that our meeting again must bring 
me much sorrow.” 

“ How can this be ?” I asked, pretending not to understand her. 

“ Ever since you left us on the Yarra Yarra, I have been trying 
to forget you. I had resolved not to see you again. And now, 
alas ! my resolves have all been in vain^ I know it is a misfortune 
for me to have met you ; and yet 1 seem to welcome it. It was 
wrong of you to come here yesterday ; and yet I could bless you 
for coming.” 

“ My calling here yesterday,” said I, “ may have been an unfor- 
tunate circumstance, though not any fault of mine. I knew not, 
until I entered this house, but that you were still in Australia. Mr. 
Cannon deceived me : he proposed introducing me to some of his 
London friends who lived here. Had I known on whom we were 
going to call, for my own happiness, I should not have accompanied 
him.” 

“ Rowland, you are cruel !” 

How can you say so, when you’ve told me it was wrong for me 
to come? Jessie! there is something in this I do not understand. 
Tell me, why it is wrong for me to have seen you, while, at the 
same time, you say you are pleased at it 1” 

“ Rowland, spare me ! Speak no more of this. Let us talk of 
other things.” 

I did my best to obey her ; and we conversed nearly an hour, 
upon such topics as suggested themselves, until our “tete-a-tete” 
was interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. H — 

I could not well bid adieu to them, without promising to call 
again : for I had not yet seen little Rosa. 

After my return home, I sat down to reflect upon the conversa- 
tion I had had with Jessie — as also to seek some explanation oi 
what had appeared mysterious in the conduct, not only of Cannon, 
but of Jessie’s father and mother. 

I had learnt that Mr. H , like many of the Australian wool 

growers, after having made his fortune in the colonies, had returned 
to his native land — intending to end his days in London. 

I had also learnt that Vane — after that occasion on which he ac 
companied Cannon and myself, had often revisited the family on 
the Yarra Yarra ; and become a professed candidate for the hand of 
Jessie. 


360 


LOST LENORE ; 


In the colony he had received but little encouragement to continue 
his advances, either from her father or mother. Since their arrival 
in London, however. Vane had come into the possession of some 

property ; and Mr. H had not only listened with favour to his 

proposals, but was strongly urging his daughter to do the same. 

A matrimonial alliance with Vane would have been considered 

advantageous by most people in the social position of the H 

family ; and Jessie, like many other young ladies, was likely to be 
married to a man, who held but a second place in her affections. 

Thousands do this, without surrendering themselves to a life of 

misery ; and Jessie H could scarce be expected to differ from 

others of her age and sex. In fact, as I soon afterwards learnt, she 
had yielded to her father’s solicitations, rather than to the suit of 
the wooer; and had given a reluctant consent to the marriage. It 
was to take place in about ten days from that time. 

I also learnt that Vane and Cannon had quarrelled, before leaving 
Melbourne. I did not ascertain the exact cause. It was no busi- 
ness of mine ; and I did not care to be made acquainted with it. 
With the conduct of the latter I had some cause to be dissatisfied. 
He had endeavoured to make use of me, as a means of obtaining 
revenge against his enemy — Vane. 

I could not think of any other object he might have, in bringing 
me once more into the presence of Jessie. 

To a certain extent he had succeeded in his design. Without 
vanity I could not shut my eyes to the fact of Jessie’s aversion to 
her marriage with Vane; and I was convinced that, after seeing me, 
it became stronger. 

I was by no means pleased at the idea of being made a cat’s paw 
for the gratification of Cannon’s revenge ; and, next day, when his 
name was announced at my lodgings, J resolved that that meeting 
should be our last. 

“ Mr. Cannon,” said I, before he had even seated himself, “ will 

you tell me why you took me to see Jessie H , when you had 

reason to believe that neither of us desired to meet the other 
again?” 

“ I had no reason for thinking anything of the kind,” replied he. f 
‘‘ On the contrary, there was much to make me believe differently. 

I have a great respect for Mr. H and his family ; and I don’t 

mean to flatter, when I tell you, I have the same for yourself. 
What harm was there in bringing together those whom I respect ? 
and desire to see friends ? But you want some explanation. You 
shall have it. It is this: — you have seen Vane, and know some- 
thing about him. I know more of him than you. He is a conceit 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 361 

©d, trifling fellow, without the slightest truth or principle in him. 
True ; his society was amusing. 1 overlooked his faults ; and bore 
with him for a long time. When I saw that he was trying to take 
advantage of the introduction I had given him to the daughter of 
my friend — a young lady of whom he is in no sense worthy — 1 then 
became his enemy. I acknowledge having taken you to see her in 
a somewhat surreptitious fashion ; and, moreover, that I did it with 
a design : that of thwarting the intentions of Vane. But 1 deny 
having done it as you suppose : because he is my enemy, k was 
not that; but my friendship to Mr. H , and his family, that in- 

duced me to act as I did. While we were on the Yarra Yarra, I 
could not fail to notice that you were not wholly indifferent to the 

beauty of Miss H ; and also, that she had the discernment to 

see, that you were w'orthy of her esteem. Where was the harm, 
then, in my bringing you once more together 1 You are mistaken in 
thinking, that I was using you to give annoyance to an enemy. On 
the contrary, I claim to have been only guilty of studying the hap- 
piness of my friends.” 

To Cannon’s explanation I could make no answer. He was bet- 
ter in an argument than I ; and what he had said, left me without 
any reason to believe, that he knew either of Jessie’s being en- 
gaged to Vane, or that their marriage was shortly to take place. 
From his point of view, I could not much blame him for what he 
had done. 

I had received Cannon with the resolve to have nothing more to 
do with him, after our interview should end ; but he had given me 
a fair explanation of his conduct, and we parted without any ill will. 

1 had promised to call again upon Jessie. It was after my last 
visit to her, that I had learnt of her approaching marriage with 
Vane; and, on receiving this intelligence, I regretted having made 
the promise. I had two reasons for regretting it. To see her 
again could only add to her unhappiness ; and perhaps to me might 
be a cause of self-reproach. 

Nothing but sorrow could spring from our again seeing one an- 
other — a sorrow that might be mutual — and, in spite of the prom- 
ise I had given, I determined we should meet no more. 


CHAPTER LXXXVI. 

MRS. NAGGER. 

Mt brother William had rented a house in Brompton ; engaged 
two female servants ; and commenced house-keeping after the man- 


962 


LOST LENORS; 


ner of most Londoners. In his house I was permitted to occupy 
two apartments — a parlour and bedroom. 

The servant, who attended to these rooms, possessed a character, 
marked by some peculiarities that were rather amusing. She was 
over fifty years of age j and carried about the house a face that 
most people w-ould have considered unpleasant. 

I did not. I only believed that Mrs. Nagger— such was her 
name — might have experieneed several disappointments in her life ; 
and that the expression, caused by the latest and last of them, had 
become so indelibly stamped upon her features, as not to be re- 
moved by any hope of future happiness. 

Like a good many of her sex, Mrs. Nagger’s tongue was seldom 
at rest ; though the words she uttered were but few, and generally 
limited to the exclamatory phrase, “ More’s the pity !” followed 
by the confession, “ That’s all I can say.” 

I had, sometimes’, cause to complain of the coffee, which the old 
housekeeper used to set before me — fancying it inferior to any I 
had met elsewhere. 

“Mrs. Nagger,” I would say — laying an emphasis on the Mrs., 
of which she seemed no little vain — “ 1 do not think this is coffee at 
all. What do you suppose it to be V* 

“ Indeed I don’t know, sir ; and more’s the pity !” 

“ And this milk,” I would continue, “ I fancy it must have been 
taken from an iron-tailed cow.” 

“Yes, sir ; and more’s the pity! Thant’s all 1 can say.” 

I soon learnt that the old creature was quite right in her simple 
confession. “ More’s the pity” was about all she could say ; and I 
was not sorry that it was so. 

One day I was honoured by a visit from Cannon , who, being 
some years older than myself, and having rather an elevated opin- 
ion of his own wisdom, volunteered to offer me a little advice. 

“ Stone,” said he, “ Why don’t you settle down, and live happi- 
ly like your brother ? If I had your opportunity of doing so, I 
wouldn’t put up with the miserable life I am leading, a week longer.” 

“ What opportunity do you speak of?” 

“ Why that of marrying Jessie H . Do not think me med- 

dlesome, or impertinent. I take it for granted that you and I are 
sufficiently acquainted for me to take the liberty I am doing. The 
girl likes you ; I know it ; and it is a deuced shame to see a fine 
girl like her thrown away on such a puppy as Vane. Why don’t 
you save her ? She is everything a man could wish for, although 
she is a little different from most of the young ladies of Londwi. 
la my opinion, she’s all the better for that.” 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


863 


In thus addressing me, Cannon acted in a more ungentlemanly 
manner than I had ever known him to do ; for he was not a man to 
intrude advice upon his friends — especially on matters such as the 
one he had introduced. 

Believing him to have some friendship for myself, more for the. 

H family, and a great antipathy to Vane, I listened to him 

without feeling offended. 

“ I am not insensible to the attractions of Miss H ,” said I, 

“ but the happiness you speak of can never be mine.” 

“Oh! I understand you,” rejoined he. “ You have been disap 
pointed in love by some one else 1 So was I, once on a time — « 
madly in love with a girl who married another, whom I suppose 
she liked better than me. At first I thought of committing suicide j 
but was prevented — I suppose by fear. I was afflicted with very 
unpleasant thoughts, springing from this disappointment. They 
stuck to me for nearly three years. I got over them at last, and Til 
tell you how. I accidentally met the object of my affections. She 
was the mother of two rosy, apple-cheeked children ; and presented 
a personal appearance that immediately disenchanted me. She was 
nearly as broad as she was long. I wondered how the deuce I could 
ever have loved the woman — more especially to have made myself 
so miserable about her. If you have been disappointed in the same 
manner, take my .^.clvice, and seek the remedy that restored me.” 

Absurd as Cannon’s proposition might appear. I could not help 
thinking that there was some philosophy in it; and, without telling 
him of my intention, I determined on giving it further consideration. 

To change the conversation, 1 rang the bell. I knew that Cannon 
was fond of a glass of Scotch whiskey ; and, when Mrs. Nagger 
made her appearance, I requested her to bring a bottle of Glenlivat 
into the room — along with some hot water and sugar. The ‘ mate- 
rials ’ were produced ; and we proceeded to mixing the ‘ toddy.’ 

“ This is the right brand,” said Cannon, taking up the bottle, and 
scrutinizing its label, “ the very sort to my taste.” 

1 could see the lips of Mrs. Nagger slightly moving; and I knew 
that she was muttering the words, “ more’s the pity !” I have no 
doubt that she suffered a little at being deprived of the opportunity 
of giving her one idea a more audible manifestation. 

Cannon did not suffer from any disappointment as to the quality 
of the liquor. At all events, he appeared to find it to his liking ; 
for he became so exhilerated over it, that he did not leave until sun- 
set ; and not then, till he had prevailed upon me to accompany him 
with the understanding, that we should spend the evening to- 
gether. 


364 


LOST LKNORK J 


“ What’s the use of your living in London,” he asked, “ if you 
stay all the time within doors? You appear even less inclined to 
see a little life, than when 1 met you in Melbourne. Why is it, 
Stone ?” 

“ Because I came here to rest myself. A life spent in labour, 
has given me but few opportunities of acquiring that knowledge^ 
that may be obtained from books; and now that I have a little 
leisure given me, I wish to make a good use of it.” 

“ That’s a very sensible design, no doubt,” said Cannon, “ but 
you must not follow it to-night. Come along with me ; and I’ll 
show you something of London.” 

I consented to accompany Cannon — on the condition of his tak- 
ing me to some place where I could be amused in a quiet, simple 
manner — any spectacle suitable to a sailor, or gold digger, and at 
which there might be no disgrace in being present. 

“ Take me to some place,” said 1, “ that is neither too high nor too 
low. Let me see, or hear something 1 can understand — some- 
thing that is popular with the majority of Londoners ; so that I 
may be able to form an idea of their tastes and habits.” 

“ All right,” answered Cannon, “ I’ll take you to several places 
of the sort ; and you can judge for yourself. You wish to witness 
the amusements most popular among, what might be called, the 
middle class? Well, we shall first visit a concert hall, or music 
room. The Londoners profess to be musical people ; and it must 
be admitted that much, both of their time and money is expended in 
listening to vocal and instrumental performances. It is in the 
theatres and music halls, that one may best meet the people of 
London — not the very lowest class of them ; but those who profess 
and fancy themselves up to a high standard of civilization. Come 
on !” 

Yielding myself to the guidance of my sage companion, I followed 
him into the street, and thence into several “ music halls.” My 
companion and I stayed but a few minutes in each of them. On 
going out of the last place, we resolved to separate for the night, as 
I was quite satisfied with what I had seen of metropolitan amuse- 
ments. 

There are many disagreeable peculiarities about London life. It 
is the only place visited by me in all my wanderings, in which I 
had seen women insulted in the streets, and where I had been al- 
most every day disgusted by listening to low language. 

London, for all this, offers many advantages as a home. The 
latest and earliest news, from all parts of the world, is there to bo 


OR, THB ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 365 

obtained ; as well as almost everything else — even good bread and 
colfee— if one will only take the trouble to search for them. 

My brother had made London his home. It was the wish of his 
wife — backed by that of her mother — that he should do so. This 
resolution on his part, produced in my mind some unmanly envy • 
and perhaps a little discontent. 

Why could fortune not have been equally kind to me, and linked 
my fate with Lenore. I had wandered widely over the world, and 
wished to wander no more. Had fate been kind, I might have 
found a happy home, even in London. But it was not to be ; and 
I might seek for such in vain — in London, as elsewhere. 

Might I not be mistaken ? Might 1 not follow the counsel of 
Cannon with profit 1 By once more looking upon Lenore, might I 
not see something to lessen my misery ? 

The experiment was worth the trial. It was necessary for me to 
do something to vary the monotony of existence. Why not pay a 
visit to Lenore ? 

Why not one more look upon her; and, perhaps as Cannon had 
said, “ get disenchanted.” % so doing, I might still save Jessie, 
and along with her myself. 

Why was the presence of Jessie less attractive than the memory 
of Lenore ? She was not less beautiful. She was, perhaps, even 
more gentle and truthful ; and I believed no one could love me 
more. Why then should I not follow Cannon’s advice ? Ah ! such 
struggles of thought availed me nothing. They could not effect my 
resolution of returning to Australia. The more I reasoned, the 
more did I become convinced, that I loved only one — only Lenore I 


CHAPTER LXXXVII. 

A “ BLESSED BABY.” 

I AM afflicted by a mental peculiarity, which seems to be hereditary 
in my family. It is my fate to form attachments, that will not 
yield to circumstances, and cannot be subdued by any act of 
volition ; attachments, in short, that are terminated only by death. 
The idea of my being united to any other than Lenore, seemed to 
me something like sacrilege — a crime, I could neither contemplate 
nor commit. 

, I believed myself to have been very fortunate in life. The reader 
may not think so ; but I can assure him, that the person who 


366 


LO0T LSNORX; 


imagines himself unhappy, really is so — whether there he a true 
cause for it, or not. Call it by what name you will, or misfortune, 
neither or both, my greatest pleasure was in permitting my thoughts 
to stray back to the happy hours I once spent in the society of Le- 
ri ore ; and my greatest sorrow was to reflect, that she was lost to 
me for ever. 

My determination to return to Australia became fixed at length ; 
and there seemed nothing to prevent me from at once carrying 
it into effect. Something whispered me, however, that before go- 
ing to the other side of the world, I should once again look upon 
Lenore. 

I knew not what prompted me to this resolve ; for it soon be- 
came such. Cannon’s counsel might have had something to do with 
it ; but it was not altogether that. I was influenced by a higher 
motive. 

I had heard that after her marriage, her husband had taken her to 
reside in London. I presumed, therefore, that she was in London 
at that moment ; but, for any chance that there would be of my 
finding her, she might as well have been in the centre of the Saha- 
ran desert. I had no clue to her address — not the slightest. I did 
not even know the name of the man she had married. The 
steward, who at Sydney had told me the news, did not tell the name ; 
and at the time I was too terribly affected to think of asking it. It 
is true that I might have found her by advertising in the papers; 
but the circumstances were such, as to forbid my resorting to such 
means as that. I only desired to see her — not to speak to her. 
Nothing could have tempted me to exchange a word with her. I 
wished but to gaze once more upon her incomparable beauty — be- 
fore betaking myself to a place where the opportunity could never 
occur again. 

1 thought of Cannon’s conversation — of his plan for becoming 
disenchanted ; but I had not the slightest idea, that, in my case, it 
would prove successful. 

While reflecting on how I might find Lenore, a happy idea came 
to my aid. She had lived in Liverpool — she had been married 
there. I was acquainted with some of Mrs. Hyland’s friends ; who 
must still be in Liverpool. Surely they would know the name and 
address of the young lady, who was once Lenore Hyiand ? It 
would only cost me a journey to Liverpool — with some disagreea- 
ble souvenirs, to spring up in my mind while there — but my re« 
ward would be to gaze once again upon the beauty of Lenore. 

I had seen in the papers, that Captain Nowell’s vessel was to tail 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLINS STONE. 367 

for Melbourne in a few days. I was pleased at this information : 
for I intended to take passage with him ; and might anticipate a 
more pleasant voyage, than if I went with a stranger. 

Before setting out for Liverpool, I wrote a note to Captain Now- 
ell — informing him of my intention to go out in his ship; and re- 
questing him to keep for me one of the best berths of his cabin. 
This business settled, I took the train for the metropolis of Lanca- 
shire. I was not over satisfied with myself while starting on this 
journey. I was troubled with a suspicion, that I was doing a very 
foolish thing. My conscience, however, became quieted by the re- 
flection that it was of very little consequence, either to myself, or 
any one else, whether I went to Liverpool, or stayed in London. I 
was alone in the world — a rolling stone — and why should I not fol- 
low the guidance of my destiny ? 

I became better satisfied with my proceedings when I reflected 
that they would lead to my finding Lenore, and once more looking 
upon her. 

I knew that by so doing my unhappiness might only be increased, 
but I fancied that even this would be a change from the dull aching 
misery, I had been so long enduring. 

My railroad journey by Liverpool was not without an incident 
that interested me. In the carriage in which I had taken my seat, 
was a man — accompanied by his wife, their child, and a servant girl 
who nursed the ‘ baby.’ I had not been ten minutes in the compa- 
ny of this interesting group, before I became convinced that it was 
worthy of being studied ; although like a Latin lesson, the study was 
not altogether agreeable. 

The husband was a striking example, of how a sensible man may 
sometimes be governed by a silly woman. The child was about 
two years and a half old ; and the fact, that it had already learnt to 
cry, seemed to its mother something to be surprised at I 

The selfishness which causes that painful reserve, or want of so- 
ciability, observable amongst the travelling English of the middle 
class, was in the case of the woman in question, subdued by a silly 
conceit about her child — which she appeared to regard as a little 
lump of concentrated perfection. Before we had been in the car 
riage half-an-hour, she had told me its age ; the number of its 
teeth ; what it did, and did not like to eat ; along with several re 
markable things it had been heard to say. 

“ But is it not strange,” asked she, after a long speech in manifes- 
tation of its many Virtues, “ that a child of its age cannot walk T* 

“ There is nothing strange about it ” muttered the husband, ‘‘how 


368 


LOST lekore; 


can the child learn to walk, when it never has an opportunity of try. 
ing? It’ll never have a chance to try, as long as there is a servant 
girl in the United Kingdom strong enough to can-y it about. I’ll 
answer for that.” 

“John, dear; how can you talk so !” exclaimed the mother of 
the blessed baby, “you have not the least consideration, or you 
would not expect an infant to be a man.” 

During the two hours I shared the carriage with this interesting 
family, 1 heard that mother use to her child about one-fourth of all 
the words in the English language — adding to each word the addi- 
tional syllable “ ee.” 

When the father ventured to open his mouth, and speak to the 
child in plain English, the mother would accuse him of scolding it ; 
and then the little demon would set up a loud yelling ; from which 
it would not desist, until mother and nurse had called it every pet 
name they could think of — adding to each the endearing syllable 
“ ee.” 

Becoming perfectly satisfied at the observations I had made of 
the peculiarities of this pleasant family, I took the first opportunity 
of “ changing carriages and left the fond mother to enjoy, undis- 
turbed, the caresses of her spoilt pet. Perhaps, had Fortune been 
a little kinder to myself, I might have felt less afflicted in such so- 
ciety. But as I had no intention of ever becoming a family man, 
I thought the knowledge of “ what to avoid,” was hardly worth 
acquiring — at the expense of being submitted to the annoyance that 
accompanied the lesson. 

On my way to Liverpool, I took the route by Birmingham. I 
wished to see the great city of iron foundries ; and, still more, my 
old mate — Brown, the convict — who had worked along with me on 
the diggins of Avoca. 

I readily found him by the address he had given me, and I had 
no occasion to regret paying him this visit : for the happiness it 
conferred upon him. In answer to my questions. Brown joyfully 
answered : “On my return 1 found my mother still living, and in 
a work-house. My brother was married ; and had a large family 
— fighting as he and I used to do against starvation. Thank God ! 

1 was enabled to place them all in comfort, and we are all now 
making a respectable living.” 

I parted from him with regret, as I much liked many traits in 
the man’s character. 


•R, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


369 


CHAPTER LXXXVIII. 

IN SEARCH OF LENORK. 

From having resided so long in Captain Hyland’s family, I was 
^familiar, as already stated, with the names of many of their 
acquaintances. Amongst others, I remembered a Mrs. Lanson ; 
who had been on very intimate terms with Mrs. Hyland and 
Lenore. 

I knew her address , and from her, would be sure to obtain the 
information I desired. After arriving in Liverpool, I proceeded al- 
most direct to her residence. At Captain Hyland’s house, I had 
often met Mrs. Lanson ; and on presenting myself, had no trouble 
in getting recognised. I was received with courtesy — even cordial- 
ity. 

am very anxious,” said I, “too see my old friends — Mrs. 
Hyland and her daughter. Having been so long abroad, I have 
lost all knowledge of them. 1 knew that you could inform me, 
where they are to be found ; and it is for that purpose I have taken 
the liberty of calling upon you.” 

“ No liberty at all, Mr. Stone;” said the lady ; “ on the contrary 
I am very glad to see you. Of course, you’ve heard of the change 
that has taken place in Mrs. Hyland’s family ; and that they are 
now living in London ?” 

I answered in the affirmative. 

“ The address is No. — Denbigh Street, Pimlico. That is Cap- 
tain Nowell’s residence. Please remember me to them !” 

Not many more words passed between Mrs. Lanson and myself. 
I know not whether she noticed my confusion, as I stammered out 
some common-place, leave-taking speech. I was too much excited 
to know what I did ; or whether my behaviour was remarked upon. 

It was not necessary for me to make a memorandum of the ad- 
dress thus given me. 1 had one already in my possession — which 
I had been carrying in my pocket for weeks. More than that, I had 
called at the house itself — on that occasion, when Captain Nowell 
accompanied me to the Bank. 

I know not why this discovery should have given my mind such 
a painful shock. Why should the thought, that Lenore had married 
a man with whom I was acquainted, cause me a more bitter pain 
than any I had yet experienced 1 

Captain Nowell was a person, for whom I felt a sincere respect^ 


370 


LOST LENORB I 


amounting almost to regard. Why then was I so disagreeably sur. 
prised, to discover that he was the man who had found the happL 
ness, I had myself lost ? I knew not ; and 1 only sought an answer 
to this mental interrogatory — in the hope, that, by finding it, I 
might be able to correct some fault that existed in my own mind. 

I had accomplished the object of my journey ; and yet I returned to 
London with a heart aching from disappointment. I bad learnt 
where Lenore could be seen ; and had gone all the way to Liver- 
pool to obtain that information ; which might have been mine at an 
earlier period — had I but hearkened to the request of Captain 
Nowell to visit him at his house. 

My reasons for keeping away from Denbigh Street were now ten 
times stronger than ever. I no longer felt a desire to see Lenore ; 
and never wished to see Captain Nowell again. 

My desire to part from London was greatly strengthened by the 
discovery I had made ; and much as 1 disliked Liverpool, I resolved 
to return to it, for the purpose of taking passage to Melbourne ; as 
I had learnt that there were several Melbourne ships soon to sail 
from that port. 

On conferring with my brother William, he expressed his deter- 
mination to remain in London. He had bought shares in a 
brewery ; and had every prospect of doing well. He endeavoured 
to persuade me against returning to the colonies, urging me to go 
into some business in London ; get anchored to a wife ; and live 
happily like himself! Little did William suspect how impossible 
it would have been for me to follow his counsels. 

The arguments he used, only increased my desire to be gone ; 
and I determined to start next day for Liverpool. 

Common politeness would not allow me to leave, without writing 
Captain Nowell a note. It was necessary 1 should let him know, 
that I had changed my mind about returning to the colonies in his 
ship. 

On the morning after this last duty had been fulfilled, before I had 
taken my departure for the train, Captain Nowell was announced, j 
and I could not well avoid seeing him. 4 

‘‘ I have come after ^*ou,” said he, as soon as he entered the | 
room. Pm sent to take you prisoner ; and bring you before two 
ladies, whom you should have called upon long ago. You cannot 
escape — so come along immediately !” 

“ It is impossible for me to go with you. Captain Nowell,” pr. - 
tested I, “ I start for Liverpool by the next train ; and I shall have 
scant time to get to the station.” 


OK, THE ADVBNTURBS OP A ROLLING STONE. 371 

** I tell you,” said the Captain. “ that I can take no refusal 
Why— do you know what I have just learnt? My wife, and hei 
daughter, are old acquaintances of yours. Don’t you remember 
Mrs. Hyland, and little Lenore ? I happened to mention the name 
of Rowland Stone this morning — on reading your note of last 
night — and there was a row in the house instantly. My wife sent 
me off to bring you, as fast as a cab can carry us. Unless you go 
with me, we shall have a fight. I daren’t go back, without you.” 

“ Stop a minute !” 1 cried, or rather stammered out the words. 
“ Let me ask you one question ! What did you say about your 
wife ?” 

“ I said that my wife and her daughter, were old acquaintances of 
yours. 1 married the widow of Captain Hyland.” 

“ Great Heaven !” I exclaimed, “ did you not marry his 
daughter ?” 

“ No. What the devil makes you ask that ? Marry Lenore Hy- 
land ! Why, Stone, I’m old enough to be the young lady’s father ; 
and I’m that, since I married her mother.” 

“ Come on !” I exclaimed, rushing towards the door. “ Come 
on ! I must see her immediately.” 

I hurried bare-headed into the street — followed by Captain 
Nowell ; who brought my hat in his hand, and placed it on my 
head. 

We hailed a cab; and ordered the driver to take us to No. — 
Denbigh Street, Pimlico. 

I thought that a horse had never moved so slow. I said every- 
thing I could, to induce cabby to drive faster. 1 did more than talk 
to him ; I bribed him. I threatened, and cursed him — though the 
man seemed to make every endeavour to satisfy my impatience. 
The horse appeared to crawl. I thought of jumping out of the cab 
— in the belief that I could go faster afoot : but my companion pre- 
vented me. 

We did reach Denbigh Street at last ; but after a drive that 
seemed to me as long as any voyage I had ever made across the 
Atlantic Ocean. 

I could not wait for the Captain to ring his own bell ; but rang 
it myself. 

On the instant that a servant girl answered the summons, I put 
the question . 

“Where is Lenore?” 

The girl’s face assumed an expression of surprise ; but seeing me 


1 


372 


LOST lxnore: 


in the company of her master, she opened the door of a drawing 
room ; and I walked in. 

Lenore Hyland was before me — more beantiful, if possible, than 
ever. 

I was, no doubt, taking a great liberty, in the ardent demonstra- 
tions I at that moment made towards her : but my consciousness 
of this could not restrain me from doing as 1 did — though I may 
have acted like a madman. 

“ Lenore,” I exclaimed, clasping her in my arms, ‘‘ are you free ? 
Is it true, that I have not lived and toiled in vain 

The young lady made no answer — at least not in words ; but 
there was something in her silence, that led me to think she was not 
offended at my rudeness. 

Gradually 1 recovered composure, sufficient to conduct myself in 
a more becoming manner ; when the captain called my attention to 
Mrs. Nowell — in whom 1 recognised Mrs. Hyland, the mother of 
Lenore. 

My long-continued misapprehension — so near leading to a life- 
long misery — was so soon fully explained. Mason, whom 1 had 
met in Sydney, and with whom the error originated, had been him- 
self the victim of a mistake. 

He had called to see Captain Nowell on business ; and the latter, 
not being at home, the old steward had asked to see his wife. 
Mrs. Nowell being engaged at the time, her daughter had come'out 
to receive him; and, as Mason had been formerly acquainted with 
Captain Hyland and his family, of course he recognised Lenore. 
This circumstance along with something that occurred in the short 
conversation between her and the steward, had led to the misappre- 
hension ; and Mason had left the house under the belief that Lenore 
Hyland was Captain Nowell’s wife ! 

I never passed a more happy evening, than that upon which I 
again met Lenore — though my happiness did not spring, from the 
“ disenchantment” promised by Cannon. I did not think of poor Jes- 
sie ; and also forgot all about my intention of returning to the colo- 
nies ; until reminded of it by Captain Nowell — as I was about to 
take leave of his family for the night. 

“ Stone,” he said, “ now that you have found your old friends, 
you must give them as much of your time as possible ; for you 
know, in a few days, we are to sail for Australia.” 

This speech was accompanied by a glance, that told me the Cap- 
tain did not expect my company upon his next voyage. 


0», THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


873 


1 proudly fancied that Lenore interpreted it, in the same sense as 
J had done j for the blush that broke over her beautiful cheeks, 
while adding bloom, at the same time, led me to believe that my re* 
xuaining in London would be consonant with her wishes. 


CHAPTER LXXXIX. 

A CHILD OF NATURE. 

One morning as I sat in my room, impatiently waiting for the 
hour when I could call upon Lenore ; and pondering over the events 
of my past life, especially that latest one that had given such a happy 
turn to it — I was informed by Mrs. Nagger that a lady was down- 
stairs, who wished to see me. 

“ What is the lady like ? 1 inquired, still thinking of Lenore. 

‘‘Like an angel in some great trouble,” replied Mrs. Nagger; 
“ and more’s the pity ! sir ; for she’s a very nice young lady, I’m 
sure.” 

“ Did she give any name ?” 

“ No, sir ; and more’s the pity ; for I should like to know it ; but 
she seems very anxious to see you, and more’s the pity, that she 
should be kept waiting.” 

I descended the stairs; entered the parlour; and stood face to 
face with Jessie H . 

She appeared to be suffering from some acute mental agony ; and 
when I took her hand 1 could feel her fingers trembling in my 
grasp. A hectic flush overspread her cheeks ; and her eyes looked 
as though she had been weeping. Her whole appearance was that 
of a person struggling to restrain the violent expression of some 
overwhelming sorrow. 

“ Jessie ! What has happened ?” I asked. “ There is something 
wrong? — ^You look as if there was — you look ill, Jessie?” 

“ Yes,” she made answer. “ Something has happened ; something 
that has destroyed my happiness for ever. ’ 

“ Tell me what it is, Jessie. Tell me all. You know that 1 will 
assist you, in any way that is in my power.” 

“ I do not know that, Rowland. There was a time when you 
might have saved me ; but now it is too late — too late to appease 
my aching heart. I have waited a long while in anxious doubt ; and 
perhaps, would have died with the secret in my breast, had 1 not 
met you again. It would have been better so. Oh ! Rowland af 


374 


LOST LKNOREJ 


tor meeting you once more in this strange land, all the memories of 
the past came over me ; only to fill my soul with sadness and dis* 
pair. Then it was that my long pent-up grief gave way ; and my 
heart felt shattered. Rowland ! I have come to you in my misery ; 
not to accuse you of being its cause ; but to tell you that you alone 
could have prevented it. No mortal could live with more happi- 
ness than 1, did 1 but know that you had the slightest love for me. 
Even should we never meet again, there would be joy in the 
thought that your love was, or had been mine.” 

“Jessie! Can yon speak thus when — ” 

“ Please, Rowland ! hear me out. I am nearly mad. I will tell 
you all — all that I have suffered for you. For that reason have I 
come here. They want me to marry a man I do not love. Give 
me your counsel, Rowland ! Is it not wrong for me to marry him, 
when I cannot love him — when 1 love only you V* 

“Jessie, I cannot hear you talk thus. I told you, when we part- 
ed in Australia that I loved another. I have met that other since ; 
and 1 find that she is still true to me. I hope never to hear you 
speak so despondingly again. To all, life is sorrow ; and we should 
pray for strength to bear it. Fulfil cheerfully the promises you 
have made. We can still be friends and you may yet be happy.” 

I could perceive, by the quick heaving of her bosom, that her 
soul was agitated by powerful emotions, that only became stronger 
as 1 continued. 

At length this agitation seemed to reach a climax ; her arms 
were thrown wildly outwards ; and without a word escaping from 
her lips, she fell heavily upon the floor. She had fainted ! 

I rang the bell and called loudly for assistance. Mrs. Naggar 
came hurrying into the room. 1 raised the insensible form ; and 
held it in my arms — while the old housekeeper rubbed her hands, 
and applied such restoratives as were near. It seemed as if Jessie 
H — was never again to be restored to life. She lay against my 
bosom like a piece of cold white marble with not a movement to 
betoken that she was breathing. I gently placed her on a couch 
— resting her pale cheek upon the pillow. I then requested 
Mrs. Naggar to summon a doctor. 

“ It’s no use, sir,” said the woman, her words causing me a 
painful apprehension : for I thought that she meant to say there 
was no hope of recovery. 

“ It’s no use, sir,” repeated Mrs. Naggar, “ she’ll be over it be- 
fore the doctor could get here. She’s only faintin’ ; and more’s tlw 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE, 375 

pity, that such a dear pretty creetur should know the trouble that’s 
causing it. More’s the pity ! that’s all I can say.” 

Mrs. Nagger’s prognoscis proved correct ; for Jessie soon recov- 
ered ; and as she did so, my composure became partially restored. 
I began to breathe more freely : for not being used to scenes of 
this kind, I had felt not only excited, but very much alarmed. 

J essie,” said I, as I saw her fix her eyes upon me, ** you are ill 
— you have been fainting ?” 

“ No,” she answered, “ I have only been thinking — thinking of 
what you have said. It was something about — ” 

She interrupted herself at sight of Mrs. Nagger — whom she now 
noticed for the first time. The presence of the housekeeper ap- 
peared to make her conscious of what had occurred ; and for some 
moments she remained silent — pressing her hands against her 
forehead. Mrs. Nagger, perceiving, that she was the cause of some 
embarrassment, silently retired from the rooni. “ Rowland,” said 
Jessie, after the woman had gone, “ I have but a few words more to 
say. To-morrow I am to be married to Mr. ^ ane. It is my 
father’s wish ; and, as 1 have been told that his wishes should be 
my own, I have consented to obey him. 1 have tried to love this 
man but in vain : for I love another. I love you, Rowland. I 
cannot govern my feelings ; and too well do I remember your own 
words, when you said, we could only love one. I will leave you 
now, Rowland : I have told you all.” 

“Jessie,” said I, “ I am truly sorry for you ; but I trust that after 
your marriage you will think differently ; and will not allow any 
memories of the past to affect your happiness.” 

“ I thank you for your good wishes,” she answered, “ I will try 
to bear my cruel fate with composure. Farewell, Rowland! I 
shall now leave you. I shall go as I have come — alone.” 

As I took her hand in mine — to speak that parting, which was 
to be our last — she fixed her eyes upon me in a glance I shall not 
forget till my dying hour. In another instant she was gone. To 
me there was something more than painful in this visit from Jessie. 
It surprised me — as did also her bearing and language. Had she 
been at all like any other girl, the singularity would have been 
still more apparent ; but she was not. Her conduct was not to 
judged by the same standard, as if she had been a young lady ed- 
ucated in the highly civilized society of Europe. She was a child 
of Nature : and believed that to conceal her thought's and affections, 
was a sin against herself — as well as against all whom they might 


376 


LOST LEVOBB ; 


regard. In all likelihood she fondly loved me ; and regretted th« 
promise that she had given to become the wife of Vane. Such 
being the case, she may have deemed it her duty to make known 
to me the state of her mind, before she became irrevocably united 
to another ; and this she had done regardless of consequences. In 
acting thus, Jessie H — might have been conscious of no wrong ; 
nor could I see any : although had another behaved in a similar 
manner, my opinion would have been different. A young lady, 
brought up in English society, that teaches her rigidly to conceal 
every warm affection and impulse of the heart, would have been 
acting wrong in doing as Jessie H — had done. In her betrothal to 
Vane, she had undoubtedly yielded to the wishes of her father, 
instead of following the dictates of her own mind ; but such was 
not the case in her making that visit to me. 

Her marriage was to take place the next day ; and it may be 
supposed that she ought to have been engaged in making prepar- 
ations for that important event. Such would the world decide to 
have been her duty. But her artless, pure, and confiding nature, 
rendered her independent of the opinions of the world ; and she 
had made one last reckless effort to possess herself of the man she 
loved. The effort had failed. Fate was against her. I went to 
make my daily visit to Lenore ; and Jessie, along with her grief, 
Was for awhile forgotten. 


CHAPTER XC. 

MRS. KAGOAR. 

Since meeting with Lenore, I had faithfully responded to the 
invitation of Captain Nowell. Most of my time had been devoted 
to his ladies ; or rather, spent in the society of Lenore. Every day 
had witnessed the return of happy hours ; and, strange to say, the 
happiest were experienced on the day of that sad parting with 
Jessie ! 

On that morning, Lenore had promised to be mine ; and an ear- 
ly day had been appointed for our marriage. 

In procuring her consent to our speedy union, I was aided by 
Captain Nowell ; who wished to be present at the ceremony, and 
tould not postpone the departure of his ship. When Lenore and 
I came to compare notes, and make mutual confession, she ex- 


OB, THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 377 

pressed surprise that I should have thought her capable of marry 
ing another ! 

“ Did you not tell me, Rowland,” said she, “ to wait for your 
return, and you would then talk to me of love 1 I knew your motive 
for going away; and admired you for it. 1 firmly confided in what 
you told me. All the time of your absence, I believed you would 
come back to me ; and I should have waited for many years 
longer. Ah ! Rowland ; I could never have loved another.” 

My journey to Liverpool — to ascertain the name and address 
of the man Lenore had not married — I had hitherto kept a secret : 
but a letter had arrived the evening before, which frustrated my 
designs. Mrs. Lanson had written to her old friend, Mrs. Nowell 
giving a full account of my visit that had ended so abruptly. I 
was compelled to listen to a little pleasant raillery from Captain 
Nowell, who did not fail to banter me about the trouble I had 
taken, to learn what I might have discovered much sooner and 
easier — by simply keeping faith with him, in the promise I had 
made to call upon him. 

“ I told you aboard the ship,” said he, “ that I had something to 
show you worth looking at ; and that you couldn’t do better than 
visit me, before throwing yourself away elsewhere. See what it 
has cost you, neglecting to listen to my request. Now, is it not 
wonderful, that the plan I had arranged for your happiness, when 
We were seven thousand miles from this place, should be the very 
one that fate herself had in store for you 1” 

1 agreed with Captain Nowell ; that there was something very 
strange in the whole thing; and something more agreeable than 
strange. I returned home highly elated with the prospect of my 
future happiness. I informed my brother and his wife of a change 
in my intentions — merely telling them that I had given up the de- 
sign of returning to Australia. They were much gratified at this 
bit of news ; for they had both used every argument to dissuade 
me from going back to the colonies. 

** What has caused this sudden, and I must say sensible, aban- 
donment of your former plans ?” asked my brother. 

“ I have at last found one,” I answered, “ that I intend making 
my wife.” 

“ Ah !” exclaimed William “ the one you had lost 1” 

“ Yes, the one that I had lost ; but what makes you think there 
was such an one ?” 

“ Oh ! that was easily seen. Ever since meeting you on the 
Victoria diggings, I noticed about you the appearance of a man 


378 


LOST LENORE ; 


who had lost something — the mother of his children, for instance. 
I have never asked many particulars of your past life ; but, until 
within the last few days, you looked very like a man who had no 
other hope, than that of being able to die sometime. Why, Row- 
land, you look at this minute, ten years younger, than you did 
three days ago !” 

I could believe this : for the change that had taken place in my 
soul was like passing from night to day. I was, indeed, happy, 
supremely happy : since Leuore had promised to be mine. That 
day I did not think of poor Jessie, until after my return home : 
when Mrs. Nagger, while setting my tea before me, put the 
question : 

“ Please, sir ; how is the poor young lady who was here this 
morning? She was such a nice creetur, I’m anxious to hear if she 
be well again.” 

This was the most reasonable remark I had heard the old 
housekeeper make, during all my acquaintance with her. She had 
given utterance to a long speech, without once using her favourite 
expression. The fact was something wonderful ; and that is 
probably the reason why I have recorded it. In answer to her in- 
terrogatory, I told her, that I had neither seen nor heard of the 
young lady since the morning. 

“ Then more’s the pity !’ rejoined Mrs. Nagger. If men have 
no regard for such a lovely creetur as her, it’s no wonder I have 
never found a husband. More’s the pity, sir! That’s all /can 
say.” 

Mrs. Nagger was a good servant ; but my sister-in-law and her 
mother were, often displeased with her ; on account of a disposition 
she often displayed for meddling too much with what did not, or 
should not have concerned her. She seemed to consider herself 
one of the family ; and entitled to know the affairs of every mem- 
ber of it ; although I believe she was prompted to this, by a feeling 
of friendship and good will.” 

“ Nagger,” I once heard my brother’s wife say to her, “ I think 
you give yourself much more trouble, than is required from you.” 

More’s the pity, maam I” answered Nagger. 

“ You must not interfere with what does not concern you,” con- 
tinued Mrs. Stone. “ If you do, I shall have to dispense with your 
services.” 

“ If you do, maam, more’s the pity ! That’s all I can say.” 

1 wish it was all you could say. Then, perhaps, we should 
agree very well,” 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 


379 


“ The more I don’t trouble about y ur business,” rejoined Mrs. 
Nagger, “ the more’s the pity for us all !” 

I believe that my sister-in-law knew this ; or if not, she probably 
thought that a better servant would be difficult to obtain ; and 
Nagger continued to keep her place. I had promised to call again 
at captain Nowell’s, that same evening, and take my brother, and 
his wife, and her mother, along with me. The Captain wished to 
see them before setting sail ; and had urged me to bring them to 
his house — a request with which 1 was but too ready to comply : as 
I was desirous to show Lenore to my relations. I communicated 
my intention to them ; and asked if they had made any engagement 
for the evening. 

“ No, I think not. Have you, William 1” asked Mrs. Stone. 

** Not that I know of,” answered my brother, “ unless it be to 
make ourselves happy at our own fireside.” 

“ I urn to be married in six days,” said I, “ and there is no time 
to lose in getting you acquainted with my intended. I have prom- 
ised to take you all to see her this evening — if I can induce you to 
go. What say you? Will you accompany me ?” 

They looked at each other. 

“ I cannot tell,” said Mrs. Stone. “ What do you say, mother? 
What do you think William. I am impatient to see Rowland’s 
choice ; but would it be etiquette for us to go to-night ?” 

“ What do we care for etiquette?” said William. “ I, for one, 
am above it. Let us go !” 

An hour afterwards, we were all on the way to the residence of 
Captain Nowell. On being ushered into the drawing-room, my re- 
latives were surprised to meet an old acquaintance — the captain of 
the ship, on which they had voyaged some thousands of miles. The 
Captain first introduced them to his wife ; and then to his step- 
daughter. 1 had before mentioned her name to my brother — while 
giving him a brief history of the life I had led, after parting from 
him in Dublin. 

On hearing the name, he gazed upon Lenore for a moment with 
evident admiration. Then turning to me, he inquired, ‘‘Is this the 
lost one, Rowland ?” 

I answered in the affirmative. 

“ I am reading a romance of real life,” said William, as he grasp- 
ed Lenore’s hand, with a grasp no other but a true sailor could give. 
Need I add that we passed that evening in the enjoyment of such 
happiness, as is only allowed to hearts that throb with innocence 
and honesty ? 


LOST LENORE ; 


SbO 


CHAPTER XCI. 

A LETTER OF SAD SIGNIFICANOl. 

Next morning, as I was on my way to Lenore, I thought of Jessie. 
I was reminded of her by the ringing of bells. It might not have 
been for her wedding; but no doubt at that same hour the bells of 
some church were tolling the announcement of the ceremony, that 
was to make her a wife. Poor Jessie? 1 could not help feeling 
sorrow for her. That peal, that should have produced joy both to 
her and myself, fell upon my ear in tones of sadness ! I fancied — 
nay, 1 knew it — that whatever might be her future fate, she was at 
that moment unhappy ! Engrossed as 1 was in my own happiness, 
it was not natural 1 should long dwell upon the misery of another ; 
and 1 soon ceased to think of her. 

Jessie is not related to me, nor my family,’' thought I, by way 
of stifling my regrets, “ she will soon forget her present griefs ; and 
perhaps be as happy as myself.” I offered up a silent prayer, that 
such should be the event. 1 saw Lenore ; passed with her a pleas* 
ant hour or two , and then learnt that my company was on that 
day no longer required. Great preparations were being made for 
the marriage. Every one in the house appeared to be busy — Lenore 
included — and as she could devote but little time to entertaining me, 
1 took leave of her, and returned home. On entering my room, 1 
found a letter awaiting me. It lay upon the table ; and, drawing 
near, I cast my eye over the superscription. 1 saw that the writ- 
ing was in a female hand ; though not one familiar to me. From 
whom could the letter be ? Something seemed to whisper in my 
ear the word : “ Jessie.” She could not have written to me — least 
of all at that hour — unless to communicate something of importance*, 
and I hastily tore open the envelope. I lay before my readers a 
copy of that ominous epistle : 

“ Kowland, 

“ The hour has arrived ! The bells are ringing for the ceremony ,• yet I am 
sitting here in my chamber — alone — alone in my anguish * I liear hurried move- 
ments below, and the sound of joyful voices — the voices of those who come to 
celebrate my wedding-day ; and yet 1 move not ! 

“ I know that my sorrows will soon be at an end ! Before another hour has 
passed away, my soul will be wafted to another world ! Y es, Rowland 1 start 
not — but when those eyes, which have long haunted me in my dreams shall be 
pazing on these lines, the poor, lone girl who loved you, and sought your love 
in return, will have ceased to exist. Her soul will be at rest from the agonies of 
this cruel world 1 


OR, THE ADVENTURES OP A ROLLING STONE. 


38 ) 


Rowland j something tells me that I must not many; that I must not enter 
fonder sacred edifice, and pledge myself to one when I love another. My con- 
science rebels against it. I will never do it ! I will die I 

“You told me you had found the long lost one you love. May know all 
Uie happiness that is denied to me I May every blessing from Heaven fall upon 
her head; and make her life one blissful dream — such as I once hoped micrht be 
mine I ^ ® 

“I know that when you read this, the first impulse of your manly heart will 
be to try to save. But it is too late ! Before you could reach me, I shall have 
dosed my eyes in death ! My last prayer shall be, that you may receive every 
earthly blessing ; and that you may long live in happiness to love her you have 
chosen as your wife ! 

“ Perhaps in your reveries, in solitude, or when your heart is sad— God grant 
that may never be ! you may bestow a thought on her whose heart you won in 
a foreign land ; and who, in her dying hour, breathed only prayers for your wel- 
fare. In such a time, and when such thoughts may wander through your mind, 
I would, that you think my only sin in life was in loving you too truly I 
“ Farewell, Rowland I Farewell for ever 1 

“ Jsssn.’ 

I rushed out into the street ; and hailed a cab. 

“ Put your horse to his greatest speed,” cried I to the driver, 
* Reach the house, as soon as ever you can !” 

‘‘ What house ?” asked the cabby. 

I gave the address ; and sprang into the vehicle. The driver and 
horse both seemed to sympathise with my impatience : for each ap- 
peared to exert himself to the utmost. I reached the street ; but, 
before arriving at the house, I could see a crowd of people collect- 
ed about the door. Their movements betokened great agitation. 
Something very unusual had certainly happened. It was not like 
the excitement caused by a wedding : for — 

“ Then and there was hurry to and fro, 

And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress ; 

And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness.” 

My arrival was not noticed by any member of the family. They 
were up-stairs, and I saw none of them ; but from one of their 

f uests, I obtained the details of the sad story. I was indeed, as 
essie had said in her letter, too late f A few minutes before my 
arrival, she had been found dead in her dressing room — with a bot- 
tle of prussic acid by her side ! I rushed back into the cab ; and 
ordered the driver to take me home again. 1 was too much 
unmanned, to remain a minute longer in that house of woe. I had 
suffered great mental agony on many previous occasions. When 
alone, with the body of my companion Hiram — whom I had neg- 
lected when on the ‘‘ prospecting” expedition in California — my 
thoughts had been far from pleasant. They were not agreeable 


382 


LOST lbnorb; 


when I sav? my friend, Richard Guinane, by his own act iali a oorpid 
before my face. Great was the pain 1 lelt, when standing by the 
side of poor stormy J ack ; and looking upon his last agonies. So 
was it when my mother left me ; but all these — even the grief 1 
felt when told that Lenore was married, were nothing to the anguish 
[ experienced, while riding home through the crowded streets of 

London, and trying to realize the awful reality that Jessie H 

had committed suicide. A heart that but an hour ago had been 
throbbing with warm love — and that love for me — was now cold 
and still. A pure spirit, altogther devoted to me, had passed 
away — passed into eternity with a prayer upon her righteous lips ; 
and that prayer for myself! My anguish at her untimely end, was 
mingled with the fires of regret. I submitted my conscience to a 
strict self-examination. Had I ever deceived her, by pretending a 
love 1 did not feel ? Was I, in any way, to blame for the sin she 
had committed ? Did I in any way, lead her to that act of self- 
destruction ? Could her parents, in the agony of their grief, re- 
proach me for anything 1 These questions haunted me all that 
night ; and I slept not. I even endeavoured to remember some- 
thing in my co^pct, which had been wrong. But I could not : for 
I had never talftjo ker of love. In all that had passed between us, 
I had been true to Lenore. In the voyage of her life, her hopes, as 
well as her existence, had been wrecked upon me; but I was no 
more to blame than the rock, unmarked on map or chart, against 
which some noble ship has been dashed to pieces. In that sad let- 
ter, Jessie had expressed a hope that I would think of her, and be- 
lieve her only guilty of loving me too well. That wish died with 
her; but obedience still lives with me. When I returned home, on 
the day of her death, I locked myself in my chamber ; and read 
that letter over and over again. No thoughts — not even 
of Lenore — could keep the rain of sorrow from dimming my eyes, 
and drowning my cheeks. Life may be long ; faith, hope, and even 
love for Lenore, may become weak within me ; but never shall be 
effaced from my heart, the deep feeling of sorrow for the sad fate 
of Jessie H . May her spirit be ever blessed of God ! 

To her family and friends, there was a mystery about the cause 
of her death, that they could not unravel. Her letter to me would 
have explained all ; but that letter I did not produce. It would 
only have added fuel to the fire of their grief — causing it to burn 
with greater fierceness, and perhaps to endure longer. I had too 
much respect for her memory to exhibit that epistle to any one, 
and see it printed, with the usual vulgar commentary, in the papers 


OR, THK ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 


383 


of the day. The unfortunate ending of her life is now an event of 
the past ; and her parents have gone to rejoin her in another and 
happier world, else that letter would still have remained in the so 
cret drawer — from which it has now been taken. 


CHAPTER XCII. 

THE ROLLING STONE AT REST. 

One bright May morning, from the turrets of two London churches 
pealed forth the sound of bells. Sadly discordant were they in tone ; 
yet less so, than the causes for which they were being tolled. One 
was solemnly announcing the funeral of one, who had lived too long, 
or died too soon. Its mournful monotone proclaimed, that a spirit 
had departed from this world of woe ; while the merry peals of the 
other betokened a ceremony of a far different character: that in 
which two souls were being united — to enjoy thesupremest happi- 
ness upon earth. 

It seemed a strange coincidence, that the very day chosen for my 
marriage with Lenore should be the one appointed for the funeral 

of Jessie H . And yet such chanced to be the case. I knew 

it ; and the knowledge made me sad. 

There was a time, when I w'ould not have believed, that a cloud 
of sorrow could have cast its shadows over my soul, on the day I 
should be wedded to Lenore. But I did not then understand my- 
self ; or the circumstances in which Fate was capable of placing me. 

Ten years have elapsed, since that day of mingled joy and sad- 
ness — ten years of, I may almost say, unalloyed happiness, in the 
companionship of a fond affectionate wife. During this time, I have 
made a few intimate friends ; and there is not one of them would 
believe — from the quiet, contented manner in which now passes my 
time that I had ever been a “ Rolling Stone.” Since becoming a 
“ Benedict,” I have not been altogether idle. Believing that no 
man can enjoy life, so well as he who takes a part in its affairs, I 
was not long settled in London, before entering into an occupation. 
I am now in partnership with Captain Nowell, who has long since 
professionally forsaken the sea; and we are making a fair fortune, 
as ship agents and owners. The only misunderstanding that has 
ever arisen between my brother William and myself, has been an 
occasional dispute ; as to which of us is the happier. 

We often hear from the “ Elephant” and our sister Martha. 


884 


LOST LEVOSE. 


The last letter received from them, informed us ; that we might 
soon expect to see them on a visit to the “ old country.” After the 

melancholy event that deprived them of their daughter, Mr. H 

and his family could no longer endure a residence in England ; but 
returned to their colonial home. They lived to see little Rosa mar- 
ried, and happy — some compensation, perhaps, for the sorrow caused 
by her sister’s sad fate. Cannon and Vane I only knew afterwards 
as occasional acquaintances. 1 have just heard of their meeting in 
Paris ; where a quarrel occurred between them — ^resulting in a duel, 
in which the the latter was killed. I have also heard, that, since 
the affair, Cannon has been seen at Baden-Baden — earning his live- 
lihood as the croupier of a gaming table ! Mrs. Nagger and my 
brother’s wife did not continue many months under the same roof ; 
and the old housekeeper is now a member of my household — a cir- 
cumstance of which I am inclined to say in her own words, “ More’s 
the pity but this reflection is subdued, every time it arises, by 
respect for her many good qualities, and a regard for the welfare of 
my children. Her days will probably be ended in my house ; and, 
when that time comes, I shall perhaps feel inclined to erect over 
her grave a stone bearing the inscription, 

“ Jaitb Dagobb, died, And more’s the pity.’* 

Yet, I hope that many years may pass, ere I shall be called upon 
to incur any such expense on her account. There was a time when 
roaming through the world, and toiling for Lenore, I thought I was 
happy. When riding over the broad plateaux of Mexico, amidst 
the scenes of lonely grandeur that there surrounded me — as also 
when toiling amidst the scenes of busier life in California — I believ- 
ed my existence to be one of perfect happiness, I was travelling, 
and toiling, for Lenore. But now that years have passed, and Le- 
nore is mine — I find that what I then deemed happiness was but a 
prophetic dream. It is while seated by my own tranquil hearth, 
with my children around me, and she by my side — that true happi- 
ness finds its home in my heart. 

When I allow my thoughts to dwell solemnly on the gifts that 
God has bestowed upon me, I feel grateful to that Providence that 
has watched over my fortunes, and ruled my heart to love only one 
^only “ Lost Lenore.” 


THE E5D. 

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